The excitement threatened to burst through Prunella's cheeks. "Excuse me a moment, Your Highness," she said hastily. "I'd like to have a word with my sister."

George smiled courteously. "You have my leave, child."

Her plaid skirt bounced as she hurried behind a partition, Rubella following closely. "Omigod, I can't believe it!" she said, her words coming out at astonishing speed. "It's my very first past-life regression, and who should show up but Queen Victoria herself! Queen freakin' Victoria, the lady who designed all that furniture!"

"Calm down, Prunie," said Rubella. "You don't want to hyperventilate again."

"We should put on our nicest dresses," the rat girl continued. "We're in the presence of royalty, after all."

"There's a procedure to follow when something like this takes place," said her sister in an officious tone. "First of all, we need to establish that the phenomenon is genuine and not a mere parlor trick. To that end, we should bring in an unbiased expert to examine George."

"I know an expert," said Prunella helpfully.

At that same moment Muffy and Beat stood by the entrance to the Sugar Bowl, reflecting on the day behind them. "I've met some rude kids, but Blake Robinson takes the cannoli," said Muffy. "He has absolutely no social graces, he probably doesn't even bathe, and he can't seem to put a coherent sentence together unless it contains the word 'homies'."

"He could definitely use some finishing," said Beat, nodding. "Trust me, however, you haven't seen rudeness until you've visited London. Most Londoners are miserable buggers. I think it's the fog that does it, plus their bowels are all backed up."

Her cell phone rang unexpectedly. Picking it up, she answered, "Hello?"

"Hey, Beat," came Prunella's voice. "There's something amazing at my house I'd like you to check out. How soon can you come over?"

"I'll be right over," replied the rabbit-aardvark girl.

As she closed the call, Muffy spoke up. "Why don't you get some ring tones? I know a web site with hundreds of free ring tones you can download."

Beat shrugged. "What would I do with hundreds of ring tones?"

"A ring tone is an expression of your personality," Muffy explained to her.

"That doesn't make sense," said Beat. "You can't sum up an entire personality with just one musical signature."

Muffy beamed. "That's why you need hundreds!"

Beat offered her a patronizing smile. "I've got to go," she said. "Give Wyatt my regards."

She found the Prufrock sisters, and a moose boy with glazed eyes, hunched around the crystal ball table. "What have we got, then?" she asked those assembled.

George was the first to speak, and he spoke strangely. "Ah, a proper British lass, but with the grandest ears I've ever seen. You could employ them as semaphores, you could."

Beat stopped, stared incredulously, and began to applaud. "Bravo! A flawless brogue, George. What's it for? Are you rehearsing for a play?"

Prunella and Rubella grinned with amusement while George addressed Beat. "Your accent is odd," said the boy. "I can't quite place it."

"I grew up in London, west of the Thames," said Beat, "as you're well aware."

George scrunched up his face thoughtfully. "I've traveled up and down the Thames, from Oxford to Windsor, and never have I heard a subject of mine speak after your manner," he stated.

His elegant words pushed Beat further into incredulity. "How do you mean, 'subject'? If you have subjects, then you must be a king."

He let out a foppish chuckle. "I am no king, child," he told the girl. "I am Her Majesty, the Queen."

A moment of strained silence passed. Finally Beat said, "Now I get it. You're conducting an experiment in Shakespearean theatre, with the men playing the roles of the women."

"I'm having a hard time understanding you," said George, looking aside at the rat sisters. "Perhaps one of you kind lasses could interpret."

Prunella smiled sheepishly. "Let me explain, Beat. I invited George over to be hypnotized, hoping it would help with his nightmares."

"Who is this George, pray tell?" said the bemused moose.

"No sooner was he under," Prunella went on, "than he started to talk in flowery Victorian sentences."

"That I can see," said Beat impatiently.

"Since you're British," said Rubella, "we figured you could listen to what he has to say, and tell us if it's an authentic past-life regression, or just a prank."

Beat grumbled the phrase under her breath. "Past…life…regression…"

"It's a technique by which a hypnotic subject recalls details of past incarnations," said the teenaged rat girl.

"I know what it means," said Beat, hands placed indignantly on her hips. "Seriously, Prunella, I can't believe you called me here just so I could witness this mass of bollocks."

George gasped. "Oh, such language! And in the royal court!"

"And in case you haven't noticed, Your Majesty," said Beat mockingly, "this isn't the royal court…it's an attic."

"Sh! Sh!" Prunella stopped her. "Hypnotism is a delicate procedure. The last thing you want to do is make the subject aware of her…uh, his surroundings."

George glanced curiously at the rafters above. "This isn't the palace," he said in a shocked whisper. "This isn't even the servants' quarters. Where on God's green earth am I?"

"Well, uh," said Prunella, fighting for words, "we invited you to dinner, Your Highness, because we're such loyal subjects of yours."

"We're your biggest subjects," Rubella added. "I'm making a special chicken pot pie."

"For that matter," said George, scrutinizing his T-shirt, "who am I? These are not the robes I was wearing, nor is this voice familiar. I seem to have become an entirely different person. Fetch me a mirror, at once!"

"A mirror," repeated Prunella. Gesturing at an old clothes dresser, she said, "Beat, bring that mirror over here, please."

The long-eared girl sighed peevishly. "As my queen commands," she muttered, snatching the rectangular mirror from the top of the faded piece of Victorian furniture.

"This is totally unusual for a past-life regression," whispered Rubella to her sister. "Normally, as soon as the past incarnation realizes she's inside someone else, the trance is broken."

Meanwhile, Prunella positioned the mirror at a straight angle so that George could observe his reflection. "Ye gods!" exclaimed the boy with alarm. "I'm…I'm a tiny creature with a bulbous nose and trees growing out of my head!"

Without warning the mirror shattered…

To be continued