I'd seen the chamber only once before, when I had de-livered Hermalaya there to get everything set up. In the space of only two hours, the princess had mustered my friends to decorate the vast room. The change was as-tounding. Colored bunting lined the stone walls. Pride of place was given to the Dragon tapestry, which hung on the wall opposite the main doors. The thrones had been taken off the dais and were arranged back-to-back in a circle with several lesser seats. The war banners and suits of ar-mor that hung from the rafters over our heads had been festooned with colored ribbons, making them look like the last battle they had waged was in a toy store. Massha must have been responsible for the aerial bombardment of glit-ter and streamers. She wore a lei made of braided crepe paper over her orange harem costume. Chumley's purple fur was sprinkled well with glitter. Only Nunzio had es-caped any festive ornamentation. Hermalaya wore only her plain white-silk apron and headcloth Elliora was so taken by the decor that she danced around in a circle.
“Oh, it's marvelous,” she exclaimed. “Is that it?” She homed in on the Cake. It was frosted in purple, but in EIliora's honor, was also adorned with gold and green. Hi-malaya headed her off, but the Leprechaun peered around her waist at the table. “What a gorgeous Cake that is! I have never seen anything so beautiful in all my days.”
“Shhh!” I hissed.
“Ah. that's right, then.” the Leprechaun said. “I'll be quiet. I know the problem you're facing. But isn't every-thing marvelous!”
“Thank you, ma'am,” Hermalaya said politely. “And was the Cake made in these very kitchens?”
“We couldn't do that.” I told her. “We couldn't risk tip-ping off anyone else that we're here. But Hermalaya baked it in the royal kitchens of Possiltum, in Klah ”
Elliora wasn't disappointed. “That's right, you're a Klahd, aren't you? I won't hold that against you. lovely boy.”
“Then let us begin,” Hermalaya said, taking a box of candles out of the drawer in the low table. “How old are you?”
A certain amount of noise was obligatory in the cere-mony, so I couldn't use a blanketing spell as I had when I helped Marmel search for his family heirloom. Instead, I modified a silence charm that should deaden the sounds we made and prevent them from escaping. I pictured the spell as a big balloon that enveloped the throne room. The trouble was, it created only a thin barrier. A really big bang would be audible on the other side of the door. I hoped that none of the real balloons that Hermalaya had used to decorate would explode, or at least not until we were finished and ready to jump out. The princess crooned her weird little song and let Elliora blow out the candles stuck in the top of the Cake.
Normally, the smoke rising from the wicks just dissi-pated into the air. Instead, they curled around and over, spiraling around Hermalaya's hands as she cut the Cake deftly into slices and slid them onto the plates.
“That's marvelous,” Elliora said. “Just a little bit of magik.”
Massha and I exchanged glances of professional ap-proval. There was something special about this particular ceremony that had been lacking in the others. Either Her-malaya had gotten so much practice lately, or performing it in her own country added an element that had been miss-ing elsewhere. She really connected somehow with the sa-cred elements she always talked about. I was beginning to pick up nuances I had not noticed before. In any case, it was hypnotically fascinating. I enjoyed it as never before.
Nevertheless, I had to keep a mental watch upon my noise-deadening spell. I'd been upset to find that the big fancy doors had no lock on them. That, too, was symbolic for the royal house of Foxe-Swampburg, telling their peo-ple that their rulers were always available to them. The penalty for violating Matfany's order was death. That meant that anyone could walk in at any time, burst our bubble, and take the princess and the rest of us away for execution. I kept a transference charm half-brewed the whole time. If anyone interrupted us, I would grab her and get her out of there. Both Guido and Massha were armed to the teeth with their own particular forms of defense. Chumley didn't need any weapons, but I was more afraid of someone getting hurt.
My preoccupation meant that I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have to the rituals. The four of us obeyed Hermalaya's instructions to race around the chairs in the middle of the room. Her chanting stopped. I raced for a spindle-backed seat. I plopped myself down on it. Alarmed, I jumped up again. “Yiii!”
“What's the matter, Boss?” Nunzio asked. “There's no one there!” I exclaimed. “I just sat down on someone's lap.” Hermalaya looked at the empty chair. “Oh, that's just Uncle Cyrus.” she said. “We are blessed.” “Who is Uncle Cyrus?” I demanded.
Hermalaya put a pretty finger to her chin to puzzle it out. “He was king about, oh, three hundred years ago? I am so delighted. The Old Folks have come to show us that they approve of our endeavors. They just love Cake.”
“Are they always here?”
“They protect us,” Hermalaya said,
