The Queen and the Nobody Boy by Barbara Else Page A

Sibilla started to kick her chair leg, bump-bump-bump , just like a boy. It was excellent acting indeed, and very fast it was annoying.
    A canteen ogre lumbered up with their plates of pies. Hodie was starving. He snatched his pie and dropped it back. “Ow!”
    â€œUse the cutlery!” said Murgott. “You’re not a pirate.”
    â€œIt’s hot!” Hodie blew on his fingers. Why did people ever want hot food?
    â€œIt’s not hot, only warm.” Sibilla grabbed one in her fingertips and started nibbling. “ Ew – it’s stale. Ew – what is it? Not pork – not chicken – I don’t think it’s carrot …”
    â€œDon’t ask,” said Murgott. “Shut up, eat up and be grateful.”
    The canteen ogre clattered dirty dishes onto his tray. “What kind of father bring boys into Stones?” he muttered to Murgott. “For shame, for shame.”
    Sibilla’s eyes were cautious but she showed her front teeth in a goofy smile. “He’s not our Daddy, he’s an Uncly.”
    The ogre scowled. “Tell Uncle to beware of riff-raff.”
    She looked uneasy. “What’s wiff-waff?”
    The ogre’s face softened. “Riff-raff is bandits,” he said. “Riff-raff is spies and rebels.”
    â€œOo, all of them?” asked Sibilla. “S-spies for who?”
    â€œThe other side.” The ogre winked. “No matter what side you are on, there is always other side. And rebels are against own side.” He kept smiling at Sibilla.
    â€œBut there’s no webels in Fontania,” Sibilla said.
    The ogre spoke from the corner of his mouth. “That is because Fontanians have good royal family who do not give ordinary folk a lot of bother. They are not very bright and best at laziness.”
    A frizzy curl sprang out the back of Sibilla’s cap. Hodie kicked her. She poked the curl back and scratched her hands all over the cap. “It must be my little nits,” she muttered. “Very bad itchies.”
    The ogre had started to lean closer but drew back. “I say no more. But some folk in Um’Binnia think democracy would be improvement.” He finished loading the tray.
    Sibilla kept both hands on her cap. “How would democ-ra-what improve the Emperor?”
    Hodie put his hands over his eyes. Any moment she would give herself away. They’d all be in trouble.
    â€œDemocracy,” muttered the ogre, “is even better than having lazy King and little girl Queen.”
    Murgott drew in a sharp breath and glanced at Sibilla. The ogre continued. “Democracy is when people spend time arguing about what is best, not just say Hoorah for Emperor to his face and heaven-save-us-all-especially-ogres behind his back.”
    The man in the check beret leaned over too. “Democracy is also not paying taxes to buy fancy footwear for Princessa.”
    â€œHa! Man is not wrong.” The ogre staggered off with his heavy tray.
    A gust of wind tossed more gravel onto the roof (unless it was bones). Hodie tested his pie and had a cautious bite. He was just deciding it wasn’t too terrible when a tug at the string around his boot made him glance down. A small squirrel, ears perked, sat and watched him. Was it the one from the wind-train? Could it even be the one whose friend Prowdd’on had squeezed to death? Hodie held out a crumb. It ate from his hand. Its whiskers tickled.
    â€œSuch nice boy.” It was the lady with the suntan and the big blue coat. She turned to the man in the beret. “I do not think there is much wrong about Fontanians. I do not understand why there will be war.”
    â€œAgreement with you,” said the man. “We do not need to own Beaches of Summerland. And if Fontanians believe in magic, what is the harm?”
    Hodie saw Sibilla’s jaw clench.
    Murgott put a big hand over hers. “I’ve seen magic at work,” he whispered