The doors opened to reveal Princess Jocaminca, who was now head lady-in-waiting, responsible for helping the royal mind navigate its way around clothes, banquets, who to be friends with, that sort of thing. The best curtain-makers of Penzance had all been summoned, along with the local Farrow & Ball paint stockists and palace-designers so the Princess could make far-ranging and important decisions regarding the decor of the Royal Palace, wherever they decided it should be built, and of what.
‘The King has commanded you do not speak to our Queen,’ growled Princess Jocaminca.
‘I just want her to confirm to me her mind,’ I said. ‘Ten minutes.’
She raised an eyebrow provocatively – princesses do that – and four of Sir Matt Grifflon’s bodyguards started moving towards me, the wiry one with the wide-set eyes at the front. I wasn’t here to chat so crushed the globe containing the Quickener in the palm of my gloved hand. At that precise instant the world – with Princess Jocaminca and the guards in it – suddenly slowed down as time ground to a near-halt, the noise captured at that precise moment now a low hum. The Quickener was fixed at 20:1, so although it appeared to me as though everything had slowed down it was only because I had sped up: the next twenty seconds of my time would take a second of anyone else’s. It was the first weaponised use of magic, and the first to be banned. Not by the military leaders, obviously – they loved it. Armed with a Quickener even the most ham-fisted of swordsmen could kill ten others as they hurtled through time. No, they were banned by wizards themselves, who, unlike scientists and physicists in particular, often gave scant thought to whether if such a thing could be done, it should.
The Quickener had other uses, too, and not just to escape bears, for which it was originally intended. Move fast and you became a blur. It’s not invisibility but about as close as you are likely to get. I dashed forward as soon as time ground almost to a standstill and ran down the corridor, knowing that the only hint I was there at all would have been a faint smear of colour as I moved past. I had to waste precious seconds weaving past people and then more time figuring out which was the Royal Suite, but when I found it, I quickly darted through the open door and locked it behind me. Inside was another princess-now-lady-in-waiting so I swiftly bundled her stiff and unmoving form into the cupboard, just as the Quickener ran out, and time returned to normal. The sound rose from a low hum, and outside, the seagulls that had been frozen on the wing continued their flight. I walked through to the bathroom, where the Queen was in a large onyx tub, filled with milk.
‘Your Majesty,’ I said in greeting, ‘goodness – where did you get that much rabbit’s milk?’
‘It’s actually long-life milk from cartons,’ she said, ‘bought from the Co-op. But in times of need, we all have to slum it a little. Who are you and what do you want?’
‘It’s Jennifer Strange.’
‘So it is,’ she said, suddenly looking nervous. ‘My mind is made up, so you’d better leave. Guards!’
It looked like her, but it patently wasn’t. Boo had been unable to detect any spelling around her, so whatever was making the Princess act like an idiot, it wasn’t magic. There was only one possible explanation.
‘I get it,’ I said, suddenly realising. ‘Where did Sir Matt find you?’
‘It’s not Sir Matt, it’s King Mathew,’ she replied in a huffy tone, ‘and I think you are going to come to a very sticky end if you don’t reveal where your Quarkbeast is.’
‘It
‘Very astute,’ said the impostor, realising that I would not be swayed. ‘I made myself known to him as soon as I heard my sister’s body complete with royal interloper had made it all the way to Cornwall. I had to make a few sacrifices of my own, you know, so don’t say I don’t deserve this.’
She raised her right arm from the bath of milk. The real Princess had lost her right hand to Hollow Men a couple of weeks before and the impostor had severed her own hand too – if she hadn’t, she could never have hoped to pass for the Princess. Judging by the level of healing, it looked as though she had used a rapid-healing balm, and that would have cost the same as a house. No one had been doing those spells for years, and the cost of old stock rose higher each year.
‘That’s commitment to a cause,’ I said, ‘and you’re going to be sorely pissed off when you find it was all for nothing.’
But the fake princess seemed to be made of sterner stuff, and wasn’t going to be easily beaten.
