Chapter Ten

 

 

THEY RETURNED TO the ticket booth outside the Queen’s castle. Both were licking at ice creams they’d bought from a street vendor who wanted no more payment than someone to scratch that part of your back you never could quite reach yourself.

‘That’s the business,’ he’d sighed as God had worked him over with his nails, ‘Goddamn that’s good.’

God had raised his eyebrows at that but said nothing, not wishing to jeopardise the soft scoop of pistachio he had his holy eyes on.

A small line of eight or nine people had formed at the booth.

‘Two to see the Queen,’ said Grace to the albino girls still manning the booth. ‘How much?’

‘No charge,’ the girl said, ‘though once you have a ticket you have to go in. If you have to go in you have to see Her Majesty. If you have to see Her Majesty you have to have a reason. Understand?’

‘Well, we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t have a reason,’ Grace replied.

‘Your call,’ the girl said, tearing off two numbered tickets and handing them to Grace. ‘You’re nine and ten, each session has a two minute window so you won’t have too long to wait.’

Grace gave God his ticket and they joined the end of the line behind a thin woman who towered above them, her arms and legs unnaturally elongated.

‘What are you here for?’ the woman asked.

‘I want permission to visit my brother,’ Grace explained. ‘You?’

‘I need to move from my place on 21st, ceilings are too damned low. My back’s killing me. I know a guy with a loft on 15th that’s willing to trade but I need Her Majesty’s blessing.’

‘Good luck.’

‘It’s no big deal,’ the woman said, ducking involuntarily as a gull swooped past, ‘as long as she’s not in one of her moods.’

‘Have you met her before then?’ asked God.

‘Oh yeah, loads of times. She’s great normally but, you know, on her bad days she can be a bit hard to please. I heard from Kookie at the Surf Shack, you know, the coffee place on the boardwalk...?’

Grace and God shook their heads. ‘We only just got here,’ Grace explained.

‘You should go, he does great shrimp latte. Anyway, he tells me she’s still pissed ’cos of the thing with the squids.’

‘Squids?’

‘You know? With the balloons?’

Grace and God shook their heads again.

‘Right,’ the woman nodded, ‘only just got here. There was a thing with some squids. And balloons. Caused a lot of fuss. Anyway, so Kookie says she’s still in a rough mood over it and he told me to wait until things had calmed down but, you know? I can only take so much of those damn ceilings. My scalp’s covered in scabs and white paint, know what I’m saying? I need out of there, like yesterday.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ said Grace, ‘as you say, it’s no big deal.’ She looked at God. ‘I just hope we can say the same.’

At two o’clock sharp, a pair of guards appeared at the entrance to the castle. They were dressed in a rough clash between gaudy clown’s outfits and chainmail. Their faces were painted black but with a clear section around their eyes and mouth, an approximation of knights’ visors done with makeup.

‘OK,’ said one of them, ‘who’s up first?’

A man with scaly skin held up his hand and offered his ticket.

‘Right,’ said the guard, ‘walk this way pal.’

They led him inside and the line shuffled one step closer to the door.

After a short wait there was a sound of screaming. The door opened and the lizard-like man was ejected, flung by the two guards, landing in a furious heap at Grace’s feet.

‘You’re barred for two months,’ said the guard, ‘and next time keep your tongue to yourself.’

‘I can’t help it!’ the lizard man shouted, his long tongue whipping out and wrapping itself around Grace’s ankle.

He tried to speak again but the noise was unintelligible as he fought to retract his tongue.

Grace, wincing, bent down and tried to help but he slapped her hands away.

‘Bad enough I gotta taste your jeans, girl,’ he said once free, holding a hand in front of his mouth to try to control the errant tongue. ‘I don’t want to taste whatever you’ve been touching too.’

He turned back to the guards. ‘Come on guys, do a man a solid would you?’

The guard shrugged. ‘You slap your tongue around a Queen’s face she’s going to lose her cool, what did you expect?’

‘Speciesist!’ the man shouted and, once again, his tongue lashed out, this time wrapping around his own wrist. ‘Ah fa fags sak,’ he grunted, wandering off in defeat, slowly uncurling the tongue with his free hand.

‘This ain’t a good start,’ said the tall woman. ‘Why did I have to pick today?’

Grace was thinking much the same thing as the guard led the next visitor in.