“Oh, all right.” They trotted into the day room together. The Queen was holding a bowl of milk, which she put down for them.
They drank. “Oh, sweet Iau, where are they getting this stuff?” Arhu muttered, and practically submerged his face in the bowl.
“Real cows,” said Siffha’h. “Not pasteurized. Full fat. They may know what cholesterol is here, but it doesn’t bother them …”
Footsteps came from down the hall. A few moments later, the man who had his finger on the Victorian nuclear trigger came in and sat down. He was long and rangy and had the abundant beard that seemed so popular at this point in time. Arhu looked up at him from the bowl and got an immediate sense of thoughtfulness, subtlety, an almost completely artificial sense of humor, and dangerous intelligence. At the same time, behind the sleek and well-behaved facade lurked emotions which, though carefully controlled, were not at all mastered. This was the kind of man who could hold a grudge, teach it to think it was a carefully thought through opinion, and then turn it loose to savage his enemies.
“I wouldn’t shed on him if I were you,” Arhu said softly. “I think you might pull back a bloody stump.”
“Mr. Disraeli,” said the Queen, “have you seen my two lovely young guests? I am hoping they will stay with me and enliven my sad days a little.”
“Ma’am, anything which brings joy to your days is a joy to your humble servant,” said Disraeli, and bowed.
Siffha’h gave him an amused look. “Pull the other three,” she said, “they’ve got bells on.”
“He can’t help it,” Arhu said. “He has to say things like that to her all the time now, or she wonders what’s wrong with him.” He put his whiskers forward.
“Sit, please,” said the Queen, and Disraeli did so and started chatting with her informally about the state of affairs in the Empire, particularly in India. Here, as in their own universe, he was trying to convince her to accept the title of Queen-Empress, and she was presently in the stage of coyly refusing it.
“But, ma’am, the nations over which our benevolent influence is extended wish only to have you assume this title as a token of their esteem …”
“If esteem is to be discussed,” said the Queen, reaching for a piece of chicken, “then I would sooner discuss the sort which France is expressing at the moment.”
“Ah, Majesty, their inflammatory republican comments are intended for their own people and their own politicians” ears. They have no import here.”
“They do when the French suggest that the British monarchy is superannuated and without merit,” the Queen said mildly, while this time giving Siffha’h the piece of chicken she was holding, and reaching for another one for Arhu. “No, don’t grab, my darling, there is plenty for you both. And when they threaten my cousins on the various thrones of Germany. I have no desire to seem as if we wish to expand our Empire—which is broad enough at the moment—at the expense of others.”
“If those others will not comport themselves wisely, those of them who live on the Empire’s doorstep,” Disraeli said gently, “surely it is in our interest to explain to them the likely results of their destabilization of the nations of Europe. We have no desire to seem threatening, of course—”
“Indeed we do not,” said the Queen, looking up rather sharply from the distribution of the next piece of chicken. “And I require you to see that we do not. My diplomatic boxes have been full of disturbing material of late: complaints from neighbors who feel that our purpose is to destabilize them. I will not leave Europe in a worse state than I found it, Mr. Disraeli.”
“Indeed, ma’am,” Disraeli said, “the general opinion is that it would be left in much better state if more of it were British.”
The Queen sniffed. “A state of which my royal father would never have approved. We are the most powerful nation on the globe: all respect us, and those who do not respect us, at least fear us, which unfortunate situation at least keeps my subjects safe. Let France provoke as it please, let Italy rattle her spears. They are too short to fly far. As for France, the English Channel is now a tie that binds us, not a protective barrier. She will do nothing but harm to her own trade by cocking a snook at us across the water.”
“Ma’am,” Disraeli said, “these direct attacks on the monarchy are being taken, by some, as direct threats to your royal person. There are those in Parliament who have begun calling for war.”
“They do that every year around tax time,” the Queen said mildly. “Some distractions are worth more than others, especially in a year which presents the possibility of a general election. As for my people’s opinion, they love to talk about conquering Europe, but they are not eager to do it themselves.”
“They would be if you asked them to,” Disraeli said softly.
The Queen gave him a cool look. “I have no interest in spending their blood,” she said, “for no better reason than a few vague threats. I am a mother too, and I know what the blood of sons is worth.”
Disraeli bowed at that. “Yet it brings us to another matter, ma’am,” he said. “You are a mother not only of princes and princesses, but of a people. And those people greatly desire to see you take up your public role with more enthusiasm. We have spoken of this before—”
“And doubtless will again,” said the Queen, turning away from him. “Mr. Disraeli, I know your concerns. But I cannot make a show of myself when my heart would be insincere, no matter what public opinion would make of it. You cannot possibly know the pain I suffer for the lack of my dear Albert … how I long for him … how that longing makes so many things, the splendors, the pleasures, as nothing but ashes in my mouth. I will not pretend to be what I cannot be … and my people, who love me, will understand.”
He bowed again, slowly, reluctantly: and gradually their talk passed to other things. Arhu, meanwhile, rubbed against the Queen’s skirts, then headed back into the bedroom.
Siffha’h followed him in. “Well?” she said. “I didn’t follow all of that.”
“It gets complicated. But that was the lead-up, all right,” Arhu said. “The circumstances are lining up as predicted.”
“You’re looking smug.”
“Smug?” Arhu shook his head until his ears rattled. “No. I like a high accuracy rating: it makes me a lot less nervous … especially when I hear the words ‘necessary expansion’ from someone who has nuclear weapons when no one else does. Nope,” Arhu said, “we’re in the right place at the right time. Now all we have to do is wait …”
The timeslide gatings which first transported the London and New York teams to 1874, and then had dropped Siffha’h and Arhu in the Queen’s rooms, had both run into trouble, as Ith had predicted. The resistance to them had been staggering, an order of magnitude greater than the last time it was tried. But Whoever was handling the resistance had not been prepared for a power source which for the first time, simply ran into it, and through it, as if it was not there. The timeslide had first aligned itself with the time and place where Artie had stumbled upon them: they left him off in time for tea with his Uncle Richard, and making their farewells, they gated once more and popped directly out into Old Jewry in the late evening of July the eighth. There, under the scarred and tarnished Moon, the teams made themselves at home, as best they could, in the Mark Lane Tube station.
Rhiow found its trains surprisingly modern: the station was clean and safe, and more handsomely decorated than its contemporary counterpart. The worldgates were not there, though. As Rhiow had suspected, they were presently up in the Fenchurch Street mainline rail station, and Rhiow and Huff had both been unwilling to tamper with them or to try to contact any London-based gating team which might be supervising the gates at this time. There were already enough complications to deal with.