Before the Queen

They entered the center of the palace, a massive throne room and assembly hall. Spiral topiary lined the walls and were spaced throughout the space like columns. Opposite the children stood a dais, and over it the woven reed roof. The rest of the hall was open to the twilight sky.

The hall was crowded with people of every imaginable hue. Pale yellow ladies with green hair chatted with old men with purple-black skin and long purple beards. Dapper gentlemen in many shades of green huddled together speaking in hushed tones. Most people wore green or yellow, and they were all dressed elaborately in pouffy pants and voluminous shirts or long, full skirts. The Capsicum guards entered the hall surrounding the von Hedwig children and stopped, stamping their feet and coming to attention. The crowd silenced and parted, clearing a corridor between the children and the dais.

A throne of thick, living vines draped with colorful linens dominated the dais, but it was empty. To the left of it stood three elegant people, a Capsicum guard whose uniform was draped with fancy yellow braid and brightly colored insignia, an elderly purple gentleman, and a man whose golden skin seemed almost translucent.

To the right of the throne stood a single lady. As soon as the children saw her, they could not take her eyes off her. Her skin was pale as cream, and her luxurious hair a vivid purple, hanging down to her waist. She was dressed simply, in lavender. She was somewhat short, and somewhat round. It was not her figure but her eyes that captivated the children. Even from across the great hall they twinkled with humor and wisdom. She looked at the children, smiled, and bowed ever so slightly. Gerhardt felt the dread lifting from his heart. Bettina felt so much better that she smiled back at the lady.

Claire sighed, and murmured to Mirabelle, who was next to her. “If that’s the Queen, I think we’re going to be all right.”

They reached foot of the dais and their lead guard ordered them to kneel. They looked at each other in confusion. They had never been asked to kneel before anyone, not the Kaiser, not the British Queen nor the Bengali Rajah. They looked at the guards, frowning and raising their truncheons, then at the pale lady on the dais. She tilted her head and frowned slightly. It looked like a warning.

Adolphus suddenly dropped to one knee. “Look, chaps,” he said, “this is all right. Sir Gawain would have done this. Anything Gawain would do we can do.”

His siblings quickly took a knee, grateful to have a compromise. None of them knew anything about groveling, but were beginning to fear they would soon learn.

A terrible bellowing sound made them all jump. They looked about wildly and found a group of tomatillo men blowing into hollowed stems as though they were trumpets. The company surrounding them bowed deeply, even the lady on the dais. The Queen entered.

She wore a rich green gown, embroidered with yellow flowers and round red fruit. Her skin was translucent, like the yellow gentleman on the dais, but she was orange-red with yellow hair piled onto her head in elaborate curls. She wore a crown of yellow and white flowers that opened and closed constantly, in a rhythm all their own.

She stood, surveying the company, then swept to her throne, enormous skirts rustling as she sat. She studied the kneeling children for some time, as they peeked up at her through their eyelashes. Her eyes were bright, with green pupils. After a time, she smiled down at the bowed children. It was not a nice smile.

“What have you brought me, Gwydderig?”