“We want to see the Queen,” said Cyril; “we come from the far Empire where the sun never sets!” A murmur of surprise and a thrill of excitement ran through the crowd. The door-porter spoke to a black man, he spoke to someone else. There was a whispering, waiting pause. Then a big man, with a cleanly-shaven face, beckoned them from the top of a flight of red marble steps. They went up; the boots of Robert clattering more than usual because he was so nervous. A door swung open, a curtain was drawn back. A double line of bowing forms in gorgeous raiment formed a lane that led to the steps of the throne, and as the children advanced hurriedly there came from the throne a voice very sweet and kind. “Three children from the land where the sun never sets! Let them draw hither without fear.” In another minute they were kneeling at the throne’s foot, saying, “O Queen, live for ever!” exactly as the woman had taught them. And a splendid dream-lady, all gold and silver and jewels and snowy drift of veils, was raising Anthea, and saying— “Don’t be frightened, I really am _so_ glad you came! The land where the sun never sets! I am delighted to see you! I was getting quite too dreadfully bored for anything!” And behind Anthea the kneeling Cyril whispered in the ears of the respectful Robert— “Bobs, don’t say anything to Panther. It’s no use upsetting her, but we didn’t ask for Jane’s address, and the Psammead’s with her.” “Well,” whispered Robert, “the charm can bring them to us at any moment. _It_ said so.” “Oh, yes,” whispered Cyril, in miserable derision, “_we’re_ all right, of course. So we are! Oh, yes! If we’d only _got_ the charm.” Then Robert saw, and he murmured, “Crikey!” at the foot of the throne of Babylon; while Cyril hoarsely whispered the plain English fact— “Jane’s got the charm round her neck, you silly cuckoo.” “Crikey!” Robert repeated in heart-broken undertones. CHAPTER VII. “THE DEEPEST DUNGEON BELOW THE CASTLE MOAT” The Queen threw three of the red and gold embroidered cushions off the throne on to the marble steps that led up to it. “Just make yourselves comfortable there,” she said. “I’m simply dying to talk to you, and to hear all about your wonderful country and how you got here, and everything, but I have to do justice every morning. Such a bore, isn’t it? Do you do justice in your own country?” “No,” said Cyril; “at least of course we try to, but not in this public sort of way, only in private.” “Ah, yes,” said the Queen, “I should much prefer a private audience myself—much easier to manage. But public opinion has to be considered. Doing justice is very hard work, even when you’re brought up to it.” “We don’t do justice, but we have to do scales, Jane and me,” said Anthea, “twenty minutes a day. It’s simply horrid.” “What are scales?” asked the Queen, “and what is Jane?” “Jane is my little sister. One of the guards-at-the-gate’s wife is taking care of her. And scales are music.”