The Watchful Dress shivered and wriggled and writhed, shaking itself out of a shift and into a lovely long tangerine-colored evening gown with a green sash. It had read the dress code instantly, and knew what was expected of it. The emerald smoking jacket felt it was already quite formal, thank you very much.
Do Queens even knock at all? September supposed they didn’t. All doors were open to a Queen. All doors belonged to the Queen. And besides, this was her house now. She shouldn’t be any more fearful of it than of her own bedroom door. But she had not ruled for a solid week yet. Not even a solid day. But surely some exceptions must be made for the current monarch? In the end, though her manners shuddered and hid behind her heart, September turned the knob and entered the drawing room without announcing herself in the least.
She half expected the Once and Future Club to be as crowded and noisy as the grand hall had been, with Kings and Queens hanging out of every window and dueling over dessert. But a pleasant, hushed, and half-empty room greeted her instead. Several lounge chairs and sofas had been hauled in from other parts of the Briary, for a Tyrannosaur has little need of footstools and tastefully plush pillows. Dinosaurs do, however, have great need of high ceilings and room to thrash a tail about. September could hardly see the chandelier; it hung so far up in the shadowy rafters that it looked like a distant moon. Someone had set up a slapdash bar on one end of the enormous parlor. Fringed lamps made little pools of soft, friendly light here and there, polished end tables hoisted drinks and sweets, and there was even a hastily hung portrait over the fireplace, slightly skew in its heavy silver frame. September recognized it—the portrait of Queen Mallow she had seen in the grand hall the first time she had ever set foot in the Briary. Only someone had painted Fairy wings onto her and pasted antlers cut out of another portrait onto her golden hair. The whole place looked like an illustration from an old detective novel involving men who smoked elaborate pipes.
September recognized several club members: There sat Madame Tanaquill, smoking a cigar in a black leather armchair, her iron dress swapped out for a graceful gown the color of lime juice. She turned and whispered something to old Charlie Crunchcrab, who’d dug up his old Ferryman’s peacoat and shoved his wings through it once more. He glared at September, but neither of them said a word to her. Hushnow, the Ancient and Demented Raven Lord, preened on a mahogany perch. The Headmistress bustled about, clearing glasses and plates, her stern cobalt dress still buttoned all the way up to her throat. Pinecrack, the Moose-Khan, drank from an elegant copper soaking tub full of mulled wine while Cutty Soames, Captain of the Coblynows, straightened his cravat in a long mirror. Curdleblood, the Dastard of Darkness, stoked the fire with a long, cruel-looking poker. Thrum, their host, the Rex Tyrannosaur, stood gallantly by the fireplace, his teeth and green scales glinting in the ruddy light. He was deep in conversation with a large panther.
“Iago!” September exclaimed, louder than she meant to.
The panther turned toward her and purred. He padded across the floor of the Once and Future Club. The Rex Tyrannosaur looked much insulted, and went to fetch ice.
“Hullo, September,” rumbled Iago, the Panther of Rough Storms. He jostled her shoulder with his great dark head. “I presume you know everyone?”
September wanted to hug him, but she was not sure it would come out right. You never could be sure, with Iago. “But you’ve never ruled Fairyland. How can you be a member?”
“Cats go where they like. Besides, I was thinking of racing myself on Thursday. I do love a good lope. I like to get a good whiff of my competition before I commit to anything.”
“You? You want to be King of Fairyland? I thought you belonged to the Marquess.”
“I belong to no one. I let her stroke me when I was in the mood for scheming. I carried the Red Wind when I wanted to stretch my legs. I hunted cloud-mice and pounced upon lightning bolts and enjoyed my own company when I couldn’t stand either of them. A cat’s love gets bored easily. But we are naturally suited to leadership. Most people obey us without even having to be hissed at. Would you like a drink?”
“HELLO,” said the First Stone, who had installed himself behind the bar, fixing drinks with more grace than you might think a boulder could muster.