The Micki Adventures

                                            by Linda Bindner

                                        Chapter 7: Bedroom Chats

        “I didn’t know that about your father,” Al said two days later.  She was spread out on her stomach on Micki’s bed with her head hanging over the end as she stared down at Micki.

        Micki lay on her back on the floor rug, her eyes closed, completely relaxed.  Now she opened her eyes to regard Al on the bed above her.  “Do you mean about him being the ambassador, or the way he always sneezes around cats?”

        “The ambassador part.”

        “Oh, yeah,” Micki said.  “He became Ruralusia’s ambassador not long after I turned three.  He’s always so busy with other countries that I haven’t really seen him since.  I sort of remember him having a beard and dark hair.”  Micki scrunched her face, thinking hard.  “At least, I remember feeling prickles when I kissed his cheek.”

        “Prickles?”  Al giggled.  “That’s a different way to describe a beard.”

        “Well, how would you describe it?”
        “‘Prickles’ is as good a way as any,” Al eventually announced.  “My older brother Roger has a beard.  I always think it itches more than pricks, though.”
        “But how often do you kiss your brother’s cheek?”

        Al shuddered dramatically.  “Not often.  The idea of kissing Roger - ew!”

        Micki laughed.  “I didn’t meet him, did I?”

        “No.  Roger works with my dad.  They were both at work the day you were over for lunch.  You’re lucky it was my mom’s day off, or you wouldn’t have met her, either.”
        “I liked your mom,” Micki said, recalling the energetic woman.  “She was nice.  I like that she wears pants.”

        “Those were Gird’s pants from last year.  Mom says that she has too much to do watching over all of us to mess with a dress.  She’s worn pants for ages.”

        “Does she like them?”

        “I guess so.  It’s kind of embarrassing.  I mean, your mom doesn’t wear pants.”

        “My mom would if she could.”

        “What - the Queen can’t wear what she wants?”  Al leaned on her elbows.  “If the Queen can’t wear what she wants, what hope is there for the rest of us?”

        “Does that mean you secretly want to wear pants?”

        “Well…”  Al dropped back to the bed.  “Don’t you think pants give you more freedom to move around?”

        “No.”  Micki squinted against the sun shining on her.  “Okay, I guess I don’t know for sure.  Princesses always wear dresses.  Although…”  Her forehead scrunched in thought.  “Pants would make it easier to slide down the bannister.”

        “But I don’t suppose princesses are supposed to want to slide down banisters,” Al argued in amusement.

        “Don’t I know it,” Micki groused.  “I’ve been yelled at enough for doing it.”

        “Who yells at you?”

        “Headmatron Merni loves nothing better than to catch me sliding down the bannister of the Grand Staircase to the Main Hall,” Micki said.  “She yells loud enough to wake the dead.”

        Al giggled.  “Can you imagine waking the dead?”

        Micki laughed.  “Yeah.  Wouldn’t that be gross?  All that dirt from their graves.”

        “And dripping things like worms - ew!”

        They laughed in quiet companionship.  Micki laced her fingers together on top of her stomach, breathing slowly.

        Al reached down to Micki.  “Let me see your Bracelet again.”

        Micki pulled her Bracelet from her wrist, asking, “Why are you so interested?  It’s just a silver circle.”

“I like watching it get bigger,” Al said, looking expectant as she handed it back.  “Can you wriggle your hand, or whatever it is you do to make it big again?”

        Micki gave a slight flick of her wrist and the Bracelet obligingly stretched into a headband fit for a princess.  As Al took hold of it agan, her look of expectation changed into awe.

        “Wow,” Al said in a hushed voice.  “I love watching you do that.”

        Micki’s forehead wrinkled in astonishment.  “Why?”

        Al shrugged.  “It’s just so… amazing.  Look, it even has your name written on it.  ‘Princess Em.’”

        Micki huffed a rude laugh.  “Rachel says that’s so I can’t forget my name.  I’d rather it said ‘Princess Micki.’”

        “It sure came in handy that day at the jailhouse.”

        “Yeah, I suppose so.”  Micki remembered how glad she’d been to have it that day, but she didn’t have to admit it, did she?

        Al continued to study the circlet from every angle.  “Yep, there’s the royal seal.  It looks sort of different than I expected.”

        “What did you expect?”

        “Something more fancy, I guess.  Not anything this small.”

        “It has to be small or else it wouldn’t fit on a hair circlet,” Micki said.  “My mom designed it when Rachel was born.”

        Al handed the circlet back to Micki, who stuck her hand through the center and squeezed.  An instant later, the Bracelet once again wrapped around her wrist.

“Do you know what happened to that man from the market?” Al asked then.  “That one who couldn’t pay his taxes?”

“Oh, yeah, I should find out,” Micki said.  “Shem the grounds keeper hasn’t complained about him, so I guess he’s working out just fine.”  Silence fell as Micki wondered how the other prisoners from that day in the central market were doing in their palace jobs.  She reminded herself to ask, though she wasn’t sure just who to ask.  Maybe the maid would know.  What was her name?  Clara, that was it.

Thoughts about names made Micki ask, “That day me and the Tutor had lunch with your family, they called you…”  She let her voice trail away.  “How come you didn’t tell me about the Junior thing?”

        Al groaned.  “They weren’t supposed to call me that.  I was hoping you would never find out.”

        “Why?  What’s so bad about ‘Junior’?”

        “Don’t you think it’s the dumbest name?”

        Micki grinned.  “It’s better than wanting to be called Tank.”

        “But not much better!”

        “At least it makes more sense,” Micki said.  “And your mom probably likes it better than being called Sondra Senior.  That would make her feel so old.”

        “Junior makes me feel so young!”

        “Isn’t it better to be young than old?  At least, that’s what Mom always says.”

        Al laughed.  “Is this the mom who secretly wants to be Queen of the pants?”  Micki laughed with her.  “It’s so weird to think your mom is the Queen.”

        “What you mean is it’s so weird to think that I could be Queen someday!”

        “If you become Queen, then I’ll be your ambassador and tell you everything they’re saying about Ruralusia in other countries.”

        But Micki shook her head.  “I’d never get to see you if you were the ambassador.  I’d make you the headmatron of the palace.”

        “Then I’d be sure to let you slide down the banister whenever you want,” Al promised.  “In fact, I’d join you!”

        Micki laughed.  “That’d be so great.  We could --”

        Three sharp raps on the door cut her off.

        “Come in!” Micki called automatically.

        Queen Madge entered and closed the door behind her.

        Al instantly sat up to attention.  “Your Majesty!”

        Micki jerked upright as well.  “Mom!  Why are you here?  Is something wrong?”

        The Queen came to an abrupt halt just inside the door to gaze at her daughter in suspicion.  “Why?  Is there some reason you were expecting me?”

        Micki relaxed.  If the Queen asked that question, it meant she didn’t know yet about the bowl she’d accidentally broken that morning in the kitchen.  Good.

        “Of course not,” Micki casually lied.  “I’m just surprised.  I was only six the last time you came to my room.”

Queen Madge smiled fondly.  “That was the first time you ran away.  We found you asleep behind the throne.”

Embarrassment flooded Micki.  So many people had wasted the entire day looking for her.  She had gotten in so much trouble!  “I assumed something was wrong again this time.”

        Queen Madge had clearly forgotten all about Micki’s worried tone when asking if something was wrong, which is what Micki wanted.  “Actually, I came to talk to Sondra.”

        Al sat up even straighter.  “Me?  Really?”

        Queen Madge pulled a chair quietly from the table and sat.  “I have a proposition for you, Sondra.”  She gestured to the empty space next to her.  “Come join me.”

        In response to the royal summons, Al jumped off the bed and hurried over.  “What can I do for you?”

        Micki also joined them as the Queen outlined her plan.  “I was wondering if I can use your more basic connection to the general population.”

        Micki hoped that Al understood that better than she did.

        But Al puckered her brows in confusion.

        Queen Madge gave a tolerant smile.  “Let me say that a different way.  I wonder if you can listen to what everyone is saying, maybe figure out their mood and what they think of Ruralusia, of the royal family and the government in general, then report your findings back to me.”

        Al’s forehead was still wrinkled in confusion.  “You want me to spy on everyone?”

        “Not spy,” the Queen clarified.  “More like listen in on their conversations, maybe eavesdrop a little.”

        “You want her to spy for you,” Micki stated.

        The Queen relented.  “Yes, I guess I do.”

        Al showed reluctance.  “I don’t think I’d make a very good spy, Your Majesty.   I’m terrible at listening in.  My brother Tank might be a better choice.”

        “Why are you terrible at listening in?” the Queen asked.  “Em is very good at it.”

        Micki couldn’t help but smile a tiny bit at the rather backwards praise.

        Al explained, “I listen for a few minutes, but then I always jump in with an opinion on something or other.  I can’t help it.  I’m awful at keeping quiet so people don’t notice me.  Tank is much better at it than I am.”

        “Hmmm.”  Queen Madge sat back in her chair to ponder Al’s words.  “Perhaps I should meet this brother of yours.  How old is he?”

        “He’s only eight right now, but his birthday is next month.”

        “To be honest, age isn’t as important as being present where such conversations take place,” The Queen said.  “Does he like to run around, go to bars, back alleys, stores, that kind of thing?”

        Perplexed at first, Al relaxed the more the Queen spoke.  “Making a pain of himself in places he shouldn’t be is what he lives for.”

        The Queen gave a satisfied smile.  “Then please bring him along the next time you visit the palace.  I’d like to meet this brother of yours.”

        Al gave a delighted smile.  “I will.  As long as you don’t mind that he won’t be so clean when he gets here.”  She leaned forward to explain, “We’ve tried to get him to take a bath at least once a week, but he always says he’s too busy to bother - he’d rather be dirty.”

        Queen Madge thoughtfully said, “I imagine that being dirty helps him to blend into the background so people don’t notice him eavesdropping on them.”  She sat back, still thinking.  “Yes.  He might do very well.”

        “Whatever you like, Your Majesty.”  Al gave a cheerful grin.  “Anything else I can do to help?”

        The answering smile fell off the Queen’s lips.  “Perhaps it’s better if you don’t mention this to anyone besides your brother.  If word of this gets out, my advisors will try to dissuade me from doing it.”

        That confession surprised Micki.  “But you’re the Queen.  Can’t you do anything you want?”

        Another tolerant smile lit up the Queen’s face.  “That’s what everyone thinks.  I’m afraid that even royals can’t do whatever they want.  I always have to think about what’s best for the country as a whole before I can think about what I want.”  Her smile turned slightly cynical.  “My advisors are sure to point out what that is...or at least what they think that is.”

        “I still don’t get it,” Micki said.

        “Don’t understand it,” corrected the Queen.

        “Yeah.”
        “You mean yes.”
        “Yeah, that.”  Micki’s eyes glazed over in thought.  “Even if these advisors tell you to do something different than what you want to do, you’re still the Queen.  Can’t you just ignore them and do what you want anyway?”

Queen Madge looked lost in her own thoughts as well.  “I wish I could,” she admitted at last.  “But I’m not always as stubborn as I should be.  They know this, and always talk me out of doing what I want.”  She paused, still thinking.  “They always sound so reasonable.”

Micki snorted.  “Then they’re in for a big surprise once Rachel’s Queen.”

Queen Madge smiled at her daughter.  “Why’s that?”

Micki said, “Rachel’s as stubborn as they come.”

“Maybe with you she is,” the Queen added.  “I’ve always found Princess Rachel to be a very willing listener.”

But Micki shook her head.  “Sometimes Rachel’s so stubborn that she’ll do what you tell her not to do just to make you mad, even if it’s not good for her.  Especially then.”

Queen Madge rose from the table and smoothly pushed in the chair.  “Then perhaps you should be one of her advisors,” she suggested.  “Wouldn’t you like telling her what not to do?”

Al nodded at Micki.  “Then just to be stubborn, she would do what you want all along.”

“That would never work,” Micki shook her head, then grinned.  “Though it sure would be fun!”

The Queen turned to leave the room, but Micki stopped her when she said, “Is not being able to do what you want the reason you wear a dress all the time?”  She gestured towards Al.  “We wondered why you don’t wear pants.  Al’s mom does.  You say that you want to all the time.”  She shrugged.  “You’re the Queen.  Can’t you wear what you want?”

Queen Madge gave her tolerant smile again.  “The queens of Ruralusia have always worn dresses.  So, I wear a dress, too.”

Micki frowned.  “That’s a silly reason not to wear what you want.”

A sly look suddenly invaded the Queen’s eyes.  “Can you keep a secret?”

Both Micki and Al sat up straight.  “Yes,” said Al.

Micki nodded.  “Yeah.”

The Queen looked over her shoulder as if making sure they were alone.  The door was shut, and so was the window.  After a minute, she briskly pulled at the side of her long skirt.  The flowered material instantly fell away to reveal a pair of tight pants and sturdy, high boots that laced up to her knees.

Queen Madge tossed the skirt material onto a chair and said in a low voice, “I wear these tight pants under my skirt every day in case I ever need to run, like if there’s a bomb, or an explosion, or something dangerous.”  Then she plunged her hands into deep pockets.  “I carry a tiny flashlight wherever I go, this little pocket knife - not to stab people, but in case I need to cut something in a hurry - a tiny pencil to write with, something to write on, and…”  She withdrew her hand to show them a silver ring on her finger.  “My own identification band, in case I ever need to prove who I am.”

Al closely examined the ring.  “Can’t someone else just take it off if they want to?”

Queen Madge shook her head.  “Not even if someone cuts off my finger.  It’s coded to my DNA, just like Em’s Bracelet is linked to hers.”

Micki leaned in to gaze at the ring she’d never thought much about until now.  “How come I’ve never heard about this before?”

The Queen gazed at her daughter in mock distress.  “And give away one of my main advantages?” she asked.

Micki couldn’t think what to say to that.

“I don’t think so!” the Queen answered for her.  With a grin, she placed everything back in her pockets, wrapped her skirt around her waist, winked at both girls, then left the room.

Micki gaped in the direction of the closed door.  “Can you imagine - she’s been wearing pants under her skirt this whole time!”

Al heaved a sigh of appreciation and turned to Micki.  “Your mom is just so awesome!”