“Well, we must make inquiries and see if we can discover to whom they belong,” said the Queen, “but they are certainly very welcome here.”
She went over to them, knelt down on one knee and stroked one of them, the kitten with more black than white. They were really a little larger than kittens, but were not yet full grown cats. The one she was stroking caught her hand in soft paws and gave it a little lick, then looked up at her with big eyes again.
“Darling thing!” said the Queen, and picked the little cat up in her arms, holding it so that it lay on its back. The small cat patted her face gently with one paw and gazed up at her adoringly.
“What was that you said? ‘Meow’?” said Siffha’h, still rolling and stretching on the floor. “Look at you, squirming around like you’ve still got your milk teeth. How shameless can you get?”
“Well, it says here that a cat may look at a King,” Arhu said. “So I’m looking.”
“Well, this is a Queen. And it doesn’t say anything about being truly sickeningly sweet to the point where Iau Herself will come down from broad Heaven and tell you you’re overdoing it. You’re going to do bad things to my blood sugar.”
“You’re a wizard: adjust it. Meanwhile, at least she smells nice. Some of theehhifaround here could use a scrub.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, comeon,don’t just lie there. We’ve got to get ourselves well settled in. Find something to be cute with.”
Siffha’h got up and headed for a thick velvet bell-pull with tassels. “All right, but I’m not sure this isn’t going to stunt my growth.” She started to play with the tassels.
The Queen burst out laughing and put Arhu down.“Oh, my dear little kitties,” said the Queen, “would you like something to eat?” She turned to look over her shoulder, toward the butler standing in the doorway. “Fownes, bring some milk. And some cold chicken from the buffet.”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“Now for once Urruah was right about something,” Arhu said. “Milk and cold chicken. I don’t suppose they’ve invented pastrami yet …”
Siffha’h inclined her head slightly to listen to the Whispering. “You’re on the wrong side of the Atlantic. They do have it in New York …”
“Dear Mr. Disraeli is coming to see me before lunch,” she said to the cats. “You must be kind to him and not scratch his legs. Mr. Disraeli is not a cat person.”
“Uhoh,” Arhu said.
“I wish she hadn’t said that,” Siffha’h said. “I won’t be able to resist, now …”
“Don’t do it,” Arhu said. “He might nuke something.”
“Please,” Siffha’h said. However pleasant the surroundings, none of them had been able to stop looking up at the sky for that quiet reminder of which Power seemed to be busiest in this universe at the moment.
“Have you been in the bedroom yet?” Arhu said.
“No.”
“Better take a look, then.”
“OK.”
“Hey! Don’t walk—scamper.”
Siffha’h scampered, producing another trill of laughter from the Queen. Arhu went after her the same way. A door opened out of the day room into the anteroom, and from the anteroom, to the right, into the royal bedroom. The bed was quite large, and beautifully covered all in white linen.
Siffha’h looked it over critically, walking around it. “It’s a good size,” she said to Arhu. “But not so big that we can’t put a forcefield over it that would stop a raging elephant, not to mention a guy with a knife.”
“We’ll have to be careful how we trigger it, though. If she gets up for something in the middle of the night, she’ll bang herself on it and get upset.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” Siffha’h said. She walked around to look at the elaborately carved headboard. “Hey, look at the nibble marks. She’s had mice in here.”
“Yeah, well, we need to make sure she doesn’t have another one,” Arhu said. “With much bigger teeth.”
“Your Majesty,” said a servant who appeared at the day-room door and bowed, “the Prime Minister has arrived.”
“Very good. Bring his usual tea. Where is the cats’ chicken?”
“Coming, your Majesty.”
“Here, kitties,” the Queen called, “come and have some milk!”
They glanced at each other.“I amnotused to this kind of thing,” said Siffha’h. “Let her wait a few minutes.”
“Why? You’re hungry.”
“If we come when she calls us, she’s going to get the idea that we’ll do that all the time. We’rePeople,for Iau’s sake.”
“Well, she’s a Queen, and she’s used to people coming when she calls. All kinds of people. Come on, Sif, humor her a little.”
“Oh, all right.” They trotted into the day room together. The Queen was holding a bowl of milk, which she put down for them.
They drank.“Oh, sweet Iau, where are theygettingthis stuff?” Arhu muttered, and practically submerged his face in the bowl.
“Real cows,” said Siffha’h. “Not pasteurized. Full fat. They may know what cholesterol is here, but it doesn’t bother them …”
Footsteps came from down the hall. A few moments later, the man who had his finger on the Victorian nuclear trigger came in and sat down. He was long and rangy and had the abundant beard that seemed so popular at this point in time. Arhu looked up at him from the bowl and got an immediate sense of thoughtfulness, subtlety, an almost completely artificial sense of humor, and dangerous intelligence. At the same time, behind the sleek and well-behaved facade lurked emotions which, though carefully controlled, were not at all mastered. This was the kind of man who could hold a grudge, teach it to think it was a carefully thought through opinion, and then turn it loose to savage his enemies.
“I wouldn’t shed on him if I were you,” Arhu said softly. “I think you might pull back a bloody stump.”
“Mr. Disraeli,” said the Queen, “have you seen my two lovely young guests? I am hoping they will stay with me and enliven my sad days a little.”
“Ma’am, anything which brings joy to your days is a joy to your humble servant,” said Disraeli, and bowed.
Siffha’h gave him an amused look. “Pull the other three,” she said, “they’ve got bells on.”
“He can’t help it,” Arhu said. “He has to say things like that to her all the time now, or she wonders what’s wrong with him.” He put his whiskers forward.
“Sit, please,” said the Queen, and Disraeli did so and started chatting with her informally about the state of affairs in the Empire, particularly in India. Here, as in their own universe, he was trying to convince her to accept the title of Queen-Empress, and she was presently in the stage of coyly refusing it.
“But, ma’am, the nations over which our benevolent influence is extended wish only to have you assume this title as a token of their esteem …”
“If esteem is to be discussed,” said the Queen, reaching for a piece of chicken, “then I would sooner discuss the sort which France is expressing at the moment.”
“Ah, Majesty, their inflammatory republican comments are intended for their own people and their own politicians” ears. They have no import here.”
“They do when the French suggest that the British monarchy is superannuated and without merit,” the Queen said mildly, while this time giving Siffha’h the piece of chicken she was holding, and reaching for another one for Arhu. “No, don’t grab, my darling, there is plenty for you both. And when they threaten my cousins on the various thrones of Germany. I have no desire to seem as if we wish to expand our Empire—which is broad enough at the moment—at the expense of others.”
“If those others will not comport themselves wisely, those of them who live on the Empire’s doorstep,” Disraeli said gently, “surely it is in our interest to explain to them the likely results of their destabilization of the nations of Europe. We have no desire to seem threatening, of course—”