A Tiny Problem
Chapter 8: Still Shrinking
When Marguerite did not make an early appearance at the breakfast table, none of the others were particularly concerned. It was not unusual for her to sleep late. But Roxton grew restless when even the aroma of fresh coffee failed to rouse her. It was decided that he should be the one to check on her.
Descending the few steps into her room, he wondered where she could be. In the dim light, the room seemed to be empty, and the bed did not appear to have been slept in. Only once his eyes had adjusted did he realize that Marguerite was, in fact, standing in the middle of her pillow, more or less exactly where he had left her the night before. Yet, this morning, she was somehow even smaller. Her arms were folded defiantly across her chest.
"Took you long enough," she teased, but her voice was so faint he could barely hear her.
He paused, unsure how to reply. Marguerite! His heart was pounding in his chest.
"It didn't work." These were the only words he could bring himself to speak.
"I told them it wouldn't, but nobody listens to me," she unfolded her arms and shrugged her shoulders dramatically.
He understood immediately from her sarcasm that she was well and truly frightened now. He wanted to take her in his arms, to reassure her, but he was deathly afraid of crushing her tiny frame.
"Well, what are you waiting for? I can already smell the coffee, and I know it's not for Challenger or Veronica."
He set his hand down on the bed beside her. She climbed on and sank to her knees, tucking her ankles beneath her as she steadied an arm against his thumb. The image was surreal. Marguerite, in the palm of my hand!
At the breakfast table, Roxton set Marguerite down beside her coffee. He had no idea how she planned to drink from the cup, which was at least half her present height. The others realized immediately that the reversal process had not succeeded.
"Marguerite, you know it's rude to put your feet on the table," Veronica teased.
"You did this on purpose!" She snapped in reply.
"Did what, Marguerite? We've done nothing but try to help you!" Veronica had not expected Marguerite to express any gratitude for their efforts on her behalf, but she did not like being unjustly accused of exacerbating the situation.
"You just wanted to prolong my humiliation! Well, I hope you're satisfied." She stormed across the table toward the target of her wrath.
The charge was absurd, and Marguerite knew it, but Veronica had refused to listen when she tried to explain about choosing a sample. And stubborn, uncompromising Veronica always knows best!
"How can you be so ungrateful?" Veronica was as outraged as she was insulted.
"And what exactly have I got to be grateful for?" The irritation in Marguerite's tiny voice was comical.
"Oh, I don't know, maybe you should be grateful for having friends who are willing to risk their lives to help you out of a problem of your own making!"
"Help? What help? You vaporized the only stone in my collection that …" she paused, not wanting to give too much away, "and you dismissed my advice and brought back a useless hunk of rock!"
Roxton had not enjoyed watching yesterday's demonstration. He had recognized the amethyst as soon as he saw it, and when he realized that Marguerite was willing to allow them to use it, he wondered whether she remembered that it had been a gift from him. If she did remember, did it mean so little to her? Now, it was clear that the significance had not been lost on her, and its destruction had pained her, too. He wanted to smile, but he was also deeply concerned about the direction the conversation had taken.
"How were we supposed to know that particular crystal wouldn't work? They all look the same!" Veronica was leaning over the table, practically shouting in Marguerite's face. The heiress didn't budge an inch.
"No. They don't. That's exactly what I tried to tell you, that you can't just grab the first stone that you see, but you wouldn't listen. You never listen! You always think you know better than everyone else. You think you are better than everyone else!"
Marguerite had her hands on her hips. She was shouting now as loudly as she could, but her voice was little more than a shrill whisper.
"Not everyone else, Marguerite, just you!" Veronica narrowed her eyes and leaned in closer.
Nobody moved. The others dared not interject. They had never heard the two argue quite like this—not even after the debacle with Chief Jacoba. It had become unusually vicious and personal, and the fact that Marguerite was only three inches tall made the scene all the more bizarre.
Veronica's words cut Marguerite to the quick, but she would not give her sparring partner the satisfaction of seeing the pain she had inflicted. This isn't over. She would not be outdone.
"No wonder Malone left. I bet he was as tired of your pious hypocrisy as the rest of us."
Marguerite did not believe this for an instant, but in that moment she would have said anything to hurt Veronica. And she did.
The heiress had touched a nerve and Veronica was rendered speechless. If Marguerite had had the benefit of her full height, Veronica might well have hit her. As it was, the best she could settle for was to humiliate her. She drew in a long breath and exhaled sharply in a puff of air that knocked her opponent off balance. The stunned heiress was blown backward, landing with a splash in her own cup of coffee.
Marguerite sputtered to catch her breath as she wiped the wet hair out of her face. Luckily, the scalding beverage had cooled to near room temperature in the time since Roxton had brewed it. Seeing her struggle to climb out of the cup, Roxton fished his lady out of the warm liquid and set her on an empty plate. She sank to her knees, sopping wet. Marguerite was mortified by the indignity of the situation. My hair! My clothes! This will never wash out.
"I think that's quite enough, Veronica."
Roxton was loath to put his foot down where their hostess was concerned. This was her home, and, ordinarily, he thought Veronica to be among the most practical, sensible women of his acquaintance. They hardly ever disagreed, especially not when it really counted. But his protective instincts where Marguerite was involved sometimes overrode the rational part of his brain. While he had no doubt that Marguerite could hold her own in an argument, right now she was not in a position to fend off any sort of physical challenge, even one that involved no direct contact. Even if it was meant as a joke—and here he was more than willing to give Veronica the benefit of the doubt—he did not find it to be at all funny.
Veronica glared at him. Of course, he's taking her side. But in her heart, she feared she had carried things too far. Marguerite was visibly dejected. In fact, Veronica had never seen the heiress looking quite so pathetic. She opened her mouth to apologize but struggled to find the words. Her own pride was wounded, too.
Finn, sensing that Veronica was about to speak, was terribly concerned about what she was about to say. Things had already gotten out of hand. It was unlike Veronica to lose her temper so completely.
"Marguerite," she interjected, "why don't we go get you cleaned up?"
Marguerite, still catching her breath, simply nodded as Finn rose from her seat and carried the tiny woman off to her bedroom, plate and all.
The silence that followed at the breakfast table was unbearably awkward. Roxton, who could not bring himself to scold Veronica, instead looked down at his hands. Veronica, for her part, blushed deeply, partly from her residual anger but mostly from the shame she now felt at what she had said and done. She rose to clear away the breakfast dishes. She felt like a naughty child and it only served to fan her fury toward Marguerite. I should never have allowed myself to sink to her level. She recognized her pun but was too bitter to laugh.
Finally, it was Challenger who spoke first.
"I don't understand what went wrong. Perhaps Marguerite had a point about the sample lacking a translucent segment." Naturally, his mind was on his latest experiment rather than the scene that had just played out before them.
"What should we do, George?" Roxton asked. "You saw her this morning. In a few hours she'll be no larger than a flea."
"Actually, John, I don't think that's probable. If the diminution beam functioned as expected, it's quite likely that Marguerite will shrink no further."
"If it functioned as expected!" Marguerite's tiny voice crossed the great room. "Challenger, nothing about that blasted experiment functioned as expected."
Barefoot, she stepped off Finn's hand and onto the table. She still smelled faintly of coffee, but she had obviously washed and changed her clothes. She now wore a pink and black sarong, fashioned out of one of her scarves, knotted behind her neck. The effect was surprisingly elegant, although Roxton noted that she was showing rather more skin than usual. He decided it was best to keep this observation to himself, but he flashed her an approving grin.
"You may not have been the intended subject, Marguerite, and the result may have been slower to manifest than anticipated, but there is no reason to believe that the scale of the effect will be anything other than as originally planned," Challenger replied. Then he had an idea. "Finn, Marguerite, would you be so kind as to join me in the lab?"
Finn offered her hand once again and Marguerite accepted the lift. Roxton followed them down the stairs. Veronica decided to keep her distance and continued to putter around the kitchen. She needed to cool off a little longer.
In the lab, Challenger gestured to a balance on his workbench.
"Marguerite, would you kindly step onto the scale for me?"
With one hand, Challenger tipped the fulcrum, lowering one of the two brass saucers to the height of the table on which Marguerite was now standing. With the other, he flipped open the lid on the box that held the set of weights. She looked up at him, agog. He opened his mouth to ask what she had weighed prior to the accident but stopped short when he realized the indelicacy of his question. Marguerite's raised eyebrow indicated that she had come to much the same conclusion.
Even so, she did desperately want to know whether she could expect to shrink any further. She lifted the silk of her dress as if it were an evening gown and stepped gracefully onto the brass saucer, steadying herself against one of the delicate chains that suspended the pan. What's one more ignominy today, she laughed to herself bitterly. Releasing the arm of the scale, Challenger began adding and subtracting weights from the other side as Marguerite bobbed up and down. He scribbled the result in a nearby notebook and made a few quick calculations. He hated guesswork, but he recognized that for propriety's sake he would have to estimate her prior weight.
"Of course, the result would be more accurate without the dress," he mumbled under his breath as he tapped his pencil. He did not realize he had spoken aloud. Roxton agreed wholeheartedly, but he pretended not to have heard the comment. Finn could not suppress a smirk.
Next, Challenger unspooled a small measuring tape, suspending it vertically. Marguerite, recognizing his intent, stood with the tape against her back. Once again, he noted the result. 8.5 CM. He judged that this was approximately one twentieth of her previous height and nodded in satisfaction. Marguerite was tremendously relieved.
Confident that Marguerite's condition was unlikely to deteriorate further, the explorers returned to the great room. This time, it was Roxton who set Marguerite on the table.
"Challenger, you should ready the balloon so that you can depart as soon as possible." The hunter was already turning to inspect the weapons they would need. Even if he had no intention of going with them, he would do everything he could to ensure they were prepared.
"We didn't deflate it completely last night. It should still have plenty of hydrogen," Veronica contributed as she moved to rejoin the others. She was determined to make things right.
Marguerite crossed her arms.
"Splendid. When do we leave?" She turned to Roxton. This time, she understood that his was the reply that mattered most.
He scowled.
"Like it or not, John, I'm coming with you."
He did not want to start another argument—not after the fiasco at breakfast—but clearly Marguerite was not about to let this go. She is in fine form this morning, he though, exasperated. They were about to have the same row for the third time in as many days. He turned and looked down into her face, putting his hands on the table, one on either side of her.
"Well, we will be in the balloon. And, so far, we haven't encountered any serious trouble in that valley. I don't see why Marguerite can't come," Veronica smiled contritely.
It wasn't exactly an apology, but the others were pleasantly surprised by Veronica's conciliatory attitude, none more so than the heiress herself. Roxton, however, wished their hostess could have picked a more opportune gesture to signal her renewed solidarity with Marguerite.
"Please, John." Marguerite laid her tiny hand on his. "I need to do this."
When she asked him politely, he had to admit that he found it nearly impossible to deny her anything, no matter how unreasonable her request. No one else said a word. It was clear that the decision was down to the two of them.
"Just a minute," Roxton growled as he pulled one of his matching, ivory handled Webleys from its holster and set it on the table. None of the others had any idea what he was thinking. "You can come along, but you are going to spend the entire time right here," he tapped the empty holster, "and you're not coming out—not even for an instant—unless I bloody well say so."
"Agreed," Marguerite replied cheerfully.
To be continued …