“But there always has been war I tell you,” said the Mer-Princess. “People would get slack and silly and cowardly if there were no wars.”
“If I were King,” said Francis, who was now thoroughly roused, “there should never be any more wars. There are plenty of things to be brave about without hurting other brave people—exploring and rescuing and saving your comrades in mines and in fires and floods and things and—” his eloquence suddenly gave way to a breathless shyness—“oh, well,” he ended, “it’s no use gassing; you know what I mean.”
“Yes,” said Mavis, “and oh, France—I think you’re right. But what can we do?”
“I shall ask to see the Queen of the Under Folk, and try to make her see sense. She didn’t look an absolute duffer.”
They all gasped at the glorious and simple daring of the idea. But the Mer Princess said:
“I know you’d do everything you could—but it’s very difficult to talk to kings unless you’ve been accustomed to it. There are books in the cave, Straight Talks with Monarchs, and Kings I Have Spoken My Mind To, which might help you. But, unfortunately, we can’t get them. You see, Kings start so much further than subjects do: they know such a lot more. Why, even I—”
“Then why won’t you try talking to the Queen?”
“I shouldn’t dare,” said Freia. “I’m only a girl-Princess. Oh, if only my dear Father could talk to her. If he believed it possible that war could cease … he could persuade anybody of anything. And, of course, they would start on the same footing—both Monarchs, you know.”
“I see: like belonging to the same club,” said Francis vaguely.
“But, of course, as things are, my royal Father thinks of nothing but shells—if only we could restore his memory. …”
“I say,” said Bernard suddenly, “does that Keep-your-Memory charm work backward?”
“Backward?”
“I mean—is it any use taking it after you’ve swallowed your dose of oblivion-cup? Is it a rester what’s its name as well as an antidote?”
“Surely,” said the Princess, “it is a restorative; only we have no charm to give my Father—they are not made in this country—and alas! we cannot escape and go to our own kingdom and return with one.”
“No need,” said Bernard, with growing excitement, “no need. Cathay’s charm is there, in the inner pocket of her magic coat. If we could get that, give the charm to your Father, and then get him an interview with the Queen?”
“But what about Cathay?” said Mavis.
“If my Father’s memory were restored,” said the Princess, “his wisdom would find us a way out of all our difficulties. To find Cathay’s coat: that is what we have to do.”
“Yes,” said Francis. “That’s all.” He spoke a little bitterly, for he had really rather looked forward to that straight talk with the King, and the others had not been as enthusiastic as he felt he had a right to expect.
“Let’s call Ulfin,” said the Princess, and they all scratched on the door of polished bird’s-eye maple that separated their apartments from the rest of the prison. The electric bells were out of order, so one scratched instead of ringing. It was quite as easy.
Ulfin came with all speed.
“We’re holding a council,” said Freia, “and we want you to help. We know you will.”
“I know it,” said Ulfin, “tell me your needs—”
And without more ado they told him all.
“You trust me, Princess, I am proud,” he told her, but when he heard Francis’s dream of universal peace he took the freckled paw of Francis and laid his lips to it. And Francis, even in the midst of his pride and embarrassment at this token, could not help noticing that the lips of Ulfin were hard, like horn.
“I kiss your hand,” said Ulfin, “because you give me back my honor, which I was willing to lay down, with all else, for the Princess to walk on to safety and escape. I would have helped you to find the hidden coat—for her sake alone, and that would have been a sin against my honor and my country—but now that I know it is to lead to peace, which, warriors as we are, the whole nation passionately desires, then I am acting as a true and honorable patriot. My only regret is that I have one gift the less to lay at the feet of the Princess.”
“Do you know where the coats are?” Mavis asked.
“They are in the Foreign Curiosities Museum,” said Ulfin, “strongly guarded: but the guards are the Horse Marines—whose officer lent you your chargers today. He is my friend, and when I tell him what is toward, he will help me. I only ask of you one promise in return. That you will not seek to escape, or to return to your own country, except by the free leave and license of our gracious Sovereigns.”
The children easily promised—and they thought the promise would be easily kept.
“Then tomorrow,” said Ulfin, “shall begin the splendid Peace Plot which shall hand our names down, haloed with glory, to remotest ages.”
He looked kindly on them and went out.
“He is a dear, isn’t he?” said Mavis.
“Yes, indeed,” said the Princess absently.
And now next day the children, carrying their tickets-of-leaves, were led to the great pearl and turquoise building, which was the Museum of Foreign Curiosities. Many were the strange objects preserved there—china and glass and books and land-things of all kinds, taken from sunken ships. And all the things were under dome-shaped cases, apparently of glass. The Curator of the Museum showed them his treasures with pride, and explained them all wrong in the most interesting way.
“Those discs,” he said, pointing to the
