Chapter 2

Governor Dalmas couldn't have recieved a warmer, more gracious welcome from any ruler except the young monarchs of Narnia. Susan had seen to it that everything in Cair Paravel was clean, neat, in apple-pie order. The marble floors glowed under warm candlelight and cool moonlight that the rain had given way to. Curling fronds of ivy graced almost every object in the lower dining hall. Dryads and fauns scurried to and fro, seeing to it that Peter's guests were served well. Near the high windows, a Naiad plucked at a harp and sang a ballad about Moonwood the Hare. Everything was perfect.

Lucy, crouching in her little alcove just off the dining hall, watched the activity. The ladies who had come from the Lone Islands with Governor Dalmas were quite pretty, but she believed that none were as beautiful as her older sister. Most of her charm came from her hospitality and friendliness, but the strand of rubies she'd woven into her dark hair certainly didn't detract from that charm.

Of course, Peter was turning out to be a splendid host: courteous, but not overly formal; regal, but not overbearing; clever, but not annoying. And his grey eyes and rough gold-brown hair complemented his royal blue tunic so handsomely that he had a few of the Islands ladies blushing and giggling behind their fans. He had been so successful so far that Lucy almost felt sorry for what she was about to put him through.

Almost.

"You still want to go through with this?" Edmund demanded behind her.

Lucy pushed her temporary guilt aside and arched an eyebrow at him. "What do you think? He spoiled my spring party."

Edmund shrugged. "If Susan finds out and comes after you with a lecture, don't expect me to stick around."

All right. She could risk that. She snapped to attention as she heard Susan call, "Finola, bring around the wine."

Finola entered the dining hall, balancing three crystal flagons on a silver tray. At Peter's sudden silence, Susan added, "My lord, I know you hate wine, so I ordered mulled cider for you."

"That's what you think," Lucy thought to herself, smiling at how nobody had seen her trade the flagon of cider for the flagon of spoiled wine a few minutes ago. She'd made sure that Peter would mistake it for mulled cider by adding an artistic little garnish of apple peel and cinnamon stick.

"Thank you, Susan," Peter replied, with a quick, quiet "Don't call me 'm'lord' in front of everyone."

"I must say, King Peter," Governor Dalmas began indulgently, "You certainly know how to serve a good dinner."

"It was mostly Queen Susan's doing, m'lord," Peter countered politely, pouring himself a small portion of the spoiled wine.

"No good," Edmund whispered to Lucy. "He only took half a glass."

"Give it time," Lucy hissed back.

"I suppose now is a good a time as any to hear your report about the economical history of the Islands," Peter said to the Governor, carefully sipping his drink.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Governor Dalmas clapped his meaty hands together, and a thin footman handed him a scroll. Deliberately, Dalmas unrolled the scroll and began reading: "The Economical History Of The Lone Islands For The Year 1004. Item One: Annual Tribute To The Narnian Crown, 200,000 Crescents."

Peter nodded as he sipped his drink again.

"Item Two: Taxes Collected From The Islanders, 2,547,861 Crescents and 17 Minim."

And now Peter's glass was empty.

"Item Three: National Debt, 406,472,573,254,003 Crescents."

Wincing at the high figure, Peter reached, with utmost decorum, for the flagon with the cinnamon stick and apple. Lucy and Edmund glanced at each other, biting their lips to stop grins as Peter filled his glass all the way this time.

"Item Four: Unemployment Rate, 36.553. Item Five: Minimum Wage, 18 Crescents and half."

Susan yawned silently and delicately as Peter drained his glass.

"Item Six: Average Annual Net Income of the Islanders, 315,000 Crescents and 45 Minim Per Annum."

Lucy noticed that Peter's hand was a bit unsteady as he poured himself a third glass of what he believed was mulled apple cider. She choked down a giggle.

"Item Seven: Main Industries of the Lone Islands. Exportation of grain and livestock. Ironworks."

Suddenly, the Governor's dull voice was interrupted by a snicker--from Peter. After a moment of indignant silence, he continued.

"Textiles."

"TEXTILES! Ha ha ha ha!"

Much to poor Susan's embarrassment and horror, Peter burst into laughter. The Governor stopped talking and gawked at Peter; the Islanders gawked right along with him. Peter didn't seem to care, he only gasped, hugging his gut, "Oh, my God, textiles! Have you--Su, have you ever heard such a ridiculous--what is this bloody world coming to?"

Susan looked most uncomfortable, but try to retain her poise. Lucy jammed her fist up to her mouth, trying to stifle her own laughter.

"Um, your Majesty," Governor Dalmas said hesitantly.

Peter struggled to control himself. "Right--ha ha--right. I'm terribly sorry. Please c-continue." He slouched in his chair. The Governor began droning from the scroll again.

"Fishing. Item Eight--"

"Ha ha ha ha!"

Susan glared at Peter, lips held tightly together. Noticing her, Peter quieted down, and reached for his glass again. His hands wavered noticeably. He took a rather messy gulp, returned the cup to its place, and bent over the table.

"Item Eight--" Governor Dalmas began again.

"Have you ever looked at this tablecloth?" Peter slurred loudly. "I mean really looked at this tablecloth? It's almost like..." Peter snorted, and then ground out the dreaded word, "...textiles!" Again he roared with laughter.

"Your Majesty?" Governor Dalmas asked.

"Hold on, I ain't done talking yet," Peter ordered, waving his hands in front of him and knocking Susan's wine over. Susan jumped to her feet angrily, but Peter continued, "The other day, I says to him, 'This tablecloth needs beating', and he said...oh, God, you'll love this. I says 'beat the tablecloth', and he says..." But nobody ever found out what 'he' said, because another unholy fit of laughter took over Peter again.

It was all Lucy could do not to laugh aloud, but a shriek of laughter managed to escape into the lower dining hall. Fortunately (or else not so fortunately) only Susan heard. She noticed Lucy in her hiding spot. Lucy gasped and ducked out of view. When she dared to peek at the dining table again, Susan had stood up and was calmly escorting Peter out of the room, saying, "I think my brother needs to rest for a bit. I do apologise, Governor." As she pushed Peter towards the balcony, she threw a blistering glance at Lucy over her shoulder, and through grit teeth, mouthed the words, "Come here!"

Lucy turned fearfully to Edmund. "I think we went too far."

"We?" Edmund smirked. "This was all your idea. I was only watching."

Biting her lip, Lucy pushed herself out of her hiding place and inconspicuously retreated from the dining hall.