Chapter 2

Malone stared up at the huge building they were approaching as he thought about what the soldiers had called the woman he had helped. "Your Majesty" wasn't that common a title, so she had to be a queen. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground when the people of the city spotted him and broke out cheering. Had word of his good deed traveled that quickly? He couldn't believe it. The gossip network had to be very efficient in this city.

The palace (that was the only thing this building could be) was an old and gorgeous place, and he was bustled inside along with the queen. It seemed that her main function now was to be decorative rather than authoritative: people clustered around her, welcoming her back, but the old man, Kestrel, as he'd been introduced, was giving all the orders. A group of ladies surrounded the queen and all but carried her off, saying that she must be exhausted from being out all day, and she wasn't given a chance to even say a "see you later" to the rest of the people there. Men surrounded Malone at Kestrel's order and led him off in another direction, telling him how pleased they were to meet him.

Malone felt his head spin after a few minutes. They went up some staircases, down hallways, through galleries, down some stairs, passed through corridors, and at last into a suite of rooms. If he had to find his way back to the front door on his own, he'd be lost in no time.

The men hurried about the room, opening drawers and pulling things out, examining them, putting them back in, or disappearing into another room.

"Ah, could I help?" Malone asked, feeling as useful as an extra leg on a person who already had two good ones.

"Oh, not at all, you have had a hard journey," one man assured him, and Malone found himself escorted to a chair and supplied with a cool drink. "You just rest there and we'll have everything ready for you in a moment."

Everything? What everything? Malone wondered, but he sipped at his drink to cover his confusion. Margeurite said that in order to be polite to servants, you allowed them to do their job without getting in their way, annoying them, or telling them how to do their job; and you always had to be careful to treat them as the experts they were. He stayed where he had been put, and let them go. He was just finishing the drink(some sort of fruit juice) when the same man appeared at his elbow and announced that everything was ready.

"Ready?" Malone parrotted, still feeling confused.

"Your bath, sir," the man replied, taking him by the elbow. A slight pressure upward was all that was required to bring Malone out of his chair, and he was escorted into the smaller room, which turned out to be a bathroom. The tub was full and the water looked hot, and Malone became acutely aware of how he was covered in sweat, dirt, and grime.

"Do you require aid in undressing?" the man asked. The whole group stood behind them in a line, ready to do whatever was asked.

"No, thank you," Malone said, giving his voice an upward inflection to let the man know that he wished to know his name.

"Karlton, sir," the man supplied. "I am your personal valet."

"No, thank you, Karlton, that won't be necessary," Malone assured him, feeling the slightest bit embarrassed. He was a grown man!

"Would you require help bathing?"

Malone was positive that he was blushing from the heat on his face. After assuring Karlton that his help really wasn't needed and seeing him and all of his assistants out the bathroom door, Malone undressed and slipped into the tub, wincing a little bit at the heat of the water. The treehouse had running water, and hot water for baths, but he never ran his baths very hot, only comfortable. He could feel kinks from the long walk unknotting, and he relaxed a few minutes before beginning a thorough scrub. He rubbed his skin pink in the process of getting clean, and stepped out and began drying off. A robe had been laid ready, so he pulled it on and was drying his hair when someone knocked on the door.

"Come in."

It was Karlton. "It will be dinnertime soon, sir, and we have to get you dressed."

Malone started blushing again. If Veronica or Margeurite heard about this, he'd never hear the end of it.

Space

Roxton, Challenger, and Margeurite watched Veronica as she paced back and forth acrosse the treehouse, fretting about Malone. The lad hadn't come back for dinner and he'd been gone all day without leaving a note. What could be keeping him? Why was he so late?

"Y'know, when he comes back," Margeurite said conversationally, "we should ground him for making us worry like this!" What had started out as a nice little statement ended up as a hiss.

"You're not worried, are you?" Roxton teased.

"No, I'm just worried about Veronica," she snapped. "Seeing someone pacing back and forth for a couple of hours is enough to make anyone worry!"

"I agree," Challenger said, closing the book he'd been attempting to read. "Why on earth didn't he leave a note? He knows better than that! Didn't he think we'd be worried?"

"Perhaps he meant to come right back," Margeurite suggested.

"Then why didn't he come back?" Roxton wanted to know.

"That's it," Veronica said, heading for the elevator. "I'm going to look for him."

Margeurite got up and stopped her. "Veronica, it's dark out," she said, trying to keep her there. "We won't be able to see a thing. Tomorrow we'll go find him as soon as there's enough light."

"Margeurite's right," Roxton said. "We'll make preparations now and leave tomorrow bright and early. It would be better than you going off on your own to find him."

Veronica looked as if she wanted to argue, but she nodded and began to set things ready with the others. As they worked, all of them wondered what could have happened to Malone.

Space

Malone wondered how he got into these messes. After much fussing from his valets, he was dressed in the finest clothes he'd ever worn. The high-collared jacket, however, was heavily embroidered and itched at his neck the slightest bit. There was too much gold braid on the collar for it to be comfortable. Karlton was escorting him to the queen, who would in turn escort him to dinner, and more than once Malone was admonished for tugging at his collar.

Karlton was telling him to stand up straight and for Heaven's sake, not to pull on the collar when they rounded a corner and met the queen. Karlton bowed deeply, and Malone, feeling he should follow protocol, began to as well. She stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder, took his arm, and thanked Karlton. The valet bowed himself out and Malone walked alongside the queen, hearing how happy she was that he was joining them for dinner.

"I'm not quite sure of what to do," Malone confessed nervously. "Will I have to make a toast or something?"

The queen smiled. "No, dear, not at all," she replied. "Have you never attended a formal dinner?"

"Not a royal one," he admitted.

"Well, just watch what I do, and you do the same directly after me," she told him as they reached a pair of large double doors. Footmen ushered them through, and Malone felt overwhelmed as every person within bowed or curtsied. Malone saw the queen bow her head and curtsy the slightest bit before he heard the whispered command "Bow. I'll stop you when needed."

Malone began to bow, but when a slight pressure on his arm stopped him, he had only given a quarter bow. Was that right? It must have been, for she began to lead him to his chair at her right hand. According to Margeurite, that was the seat of greatest honor. He stood behind his chair as others were doing, and watched her for the cue to take his seat. She sat and cued him and he sat, but the others were a few seconds behind him. Had he gone too fast?

He decided not to worry as the first course was served. It was some sort of appetizer, and he watched how the queen ate so he would know what to do, correcting his table manners as the meal went along. He ate a little bit of everything, remembering that large dinners had a great many courses. If he ate all of each dish, he'd burst his belt after the third course.

The most troubling thing was the conversation. Everyone seated around him had to hear how he had saved the queen several times, and then they had to know all about him. They were confused as to what a journalist was, but when he explained that a journalist recorded and reported events to others, there was a murmur that made him worried all over again. Was it gauche to say that one was a reporter? Was he going to mortally offend someone before the night was over?

"Don't worry about it," the queen assured him in a whisper. "The only news the court troubles itself about is the latest fashion, so such an idea is a novelty."

Dessert had ended and Malone was getting a bit of a headache from the champagne when he heard a chair slide back. It was Kestrel, and he was holding his glass high.

"I wish to make a toast to Her Majesty," Kestrel said, "that you have returned safely to us."

"To Her Majesty!" the room boomed, and everyone took a sip.

"I would also like to make a toast to His Royal Highness, who has returned to us," Kestrel continued, this time lifting his glass in Malone's direction.

"To His Royal Highness!"

Malone sat there and stared, unable to think or speak.