“That depends on whether or not I know the answer to the question,” Babs said, scrunching up her button nose. “Do I know the answer to the question? If it is multiplication, I am not very good at that yet.”
Bella bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh. “No worries, kid. I’m not very good at it either. The eights confuse me every time. No, this is a much simpler question.” She pointed at Liam and Barbara. “If you spilled porridge, or anything else, what would you tell your folks?”
Babs blinked. “That is a very silly question. I would tell them I spilled the porridge, of course. What else would I say?”
Chudo-Yudo spat out his bone with a thunk. “Bella is brilliant. Haven’t I always said she was brilliant, Barbara?”
“I don’t remember whether you did or not,” Barbara said, gazing at Babs with wide eyes. “But clearly you are right.” She leaned over and gave Bella a big hug. “Thanks. You’re the best. I wish we could stay longer.”
Liam raised one eyebrow in question and she grinned at him. “Still don’t get it? I’ll explain it on the way.” She raised her voice a little so that she could divert Babs’s attention from her questionable breakfast. “Time to go put on your ‘goin’ to court’ clothes. We’re going visiting.”
“Can I wear my sword?” Babs asked, getting up from the table. She slid the last of her toast toward Chudo-Yudo, who swallowed it in one gulp, liverwurst and all.
“Of course you can.” Barbara said. “Don’t forget to comb your hair.”
“You know where to find someone who has never told a lie?” Liam said, pushing off from the counter and moving toward their tiny bedroom at the back of the Airstream. “Care to share that information with me? You know, so I don’t look like an idiot in front of the Queen.”
“We’re both idiots,” Barbara said with a crooked smile. “The answer has been in front of us all along.”
***
This time when the four of them sought out the Queen and King, they found Their Majesties playing croquet on the endless blue-green lawn in front of the castle. Courtiers in billowy linen shirts and puff-legged pantaloons held mallets like weapons in a casual war as impossibly beautiful ladies in gowns covered with living embroidery flowers vied to put their balls through glittering gold wickets. As the visitors drew nearer, one of the blue balls took advantage of the distraction to sprout multiple spiny purple legs and run away.
“My dear Baba Yaga,” the Queen said as they approached and made their formal bows. “Has it been a fortnight already? How rapidly time moves on your side of the doorway.” She snapped her fingers and servitors immediately appeared with chairs for her and the King. The other members of the court simply gathered in close, murmuring among themselves.
Barbara ignored them all, her attention focused completely on the royal couple.
“Actually, it has only been about half of the allotted time,” she said.
The Queen looked almost disappointed. “And you have come to admit defeat before the full time I allowed you has elapsed? I expected more from you and your mate.”
“Not at all, Your Majesty,” Barbara said, making sure that not a hint of triumph showed on her face. It was bad enough to show up the Queen. Gloating could be a fatal error in judgment. Literally. “We have accomplished the tasks you set for us and have returned to present you with the proof of our labors.”
“Indeed?” the King said, lifting one dark eyebrow. “How very intriguing.”
The Queen looked haughty and mysterious—so pretty much as she usually did. “I barely remember the terms,” she said. “Where is my Notaire?”
A tall spindly creature with a long pointed nose and batlike ears pushed his way through the crowd, a formal scroll clutched between spindly many-jointed fingers. He unrolled the parchment with great pomp and read aloud the first impossible task in a faint French accent.
“The first task: catch the song of the ocean in a bottle,” he said in a voice that sounded like choral bells at dusk.
“Ah, yes,” the Queen said. “Let us begin with that.”
Barbara dug into her bag and pulled out the vibrant blue bottle with its luminous shell tucked inside. With a small, gracious bow, she handed it to the Queen, who wrinkled her elegant nose.
“Really, Baba Yaga?” she said, dubious in the extreme. “A bottle with a shell inside does not the ocean make.”
“Pull out the cork and listen,” Barbara suggested.
The Queen did so, and put the bottle to her ear. A reluctant smile spread over her face as she listened to the music held captive within.
“Ah,” was all she said, but when she handed the cobalt container over to her consort, he listened for a long time and then let out a sigh.