"Johnson, dear boy," the Queen said. "Really a remarkable man--and such a good friend to poor Will. Why, did you ever hear the story of how he actually paid Will's rent in London once upon a time? That was while Will and that Anne of his were having one of their arguments, of course. I didn't tell you that story, did I?" "No," Malone said truthfully, but his voice was full of foreboding. "If I might remind Your Majesty of the subject," he added tentatively, "I should like to say--" "Remind me of the subject!" the Queen said, obviously delighted. "What a lovely pun! And how much better because purely unconscious! My, my, Sir Kenneth, I never suspected you of a pointed sense of humor--could you be a descendant of Sir Richard Greene, I wonder?" "I doubt it," Malone said. "My ancestors were all poor but Irish." He paused. "Or, if you prefer, Irish, but poor." Another pause, and then he added: "If that means anything at all. Which I doubt." "In any case," the Queen said, her eyes twinkling, "you were about to enter a new objection to our little visit to the Palace, were you not?" Malone admitted as much. "I really think that--" Her eyes grew suddenly cold. "If I hear any more objections, Sir Kenneth, I shall not only rescind your knighthood and--when I regain my rightful kingdom--deny you your dukedom, but I shall refuse to cooperate any further in the business of Project Isle." Malone turned cold. His face, he knew without glancing in the mirror, was white and pale. He thought of what Burris would do to him if he didn't follow through on his assigned job. Even if he wasn't as good as Burris thought he was, he really liked being an FBI agent. He didn't want to be fired. And Burris had said: _"Give her anything she wants."_ He gulped and tried to make his face look normal. "All right," he said. "Fine. We'll go to the Palace." He tried to ignore the pall of apprehension that fell over the car. 6 The management of the Golden Palace had been in business for many long, dreary, profitable years, and each member of the staff thought he or she had seen just about everything there was to be seen. And those that were new felt an obligation to _look_ as if they'd seen everything. Therefore, when the entourage of Queen Elizabeth I strolled into the main salon, not a single eye was batted. Not a single gasp was heard. Nevertheless, the staff kept a discreet eye on the crew. Drunks, rich men or Arabian millionaires were all familiar. But a group out of the Sixteenth Century was something else again.