“Are you forbidden to talk to us?” “No.” “Then do tell us what they will do with us.” “I do not know. But we shall have to know before long. The prisons are filling up quickly—they will soon be quite full. Then we shall have to let some of you out on what is called ticket-of-leave—that means with your artificial tails on, which prevent you getting away, even if the oblivion-cup doesn’t take effect.” “I say,” it was Bernard’s turn to ask. “What do you say?” “Why don’t the King and Queen go and fight, like the Mer Royal Family do?” “Against the law,” said the Under-lad. “We took a King prisoner once, and our people were afraid our King and Queen might be taken, so they made that rule.” “What did you do with him—the prisoner King?” the Princess asked. “Put him in an Iswater,” said the lad, “a piece of water entirely surrounded by land.” “I should like to see him,” said the Princess. “Nothing easier,” said the Under-lad, “as soon as you get your tickets-of-leaves. It’s a good long passage to the lake—nearly all water, of course, but lots of our young people go there three times a week. Of course, he can’t be a King anymore now—but they made him Professor of Conchology.” “And has he forgotten he was a _King_?” asked the Princess. “Of course: but he was so learned the oblivion-cup wasn’t deep enough to make him forget everything: that’s why he’s a Professor.” “What was he King of?” the Princess asked anxiously. “He was King of the Barbarians,” said the Jailer’s son—and the Princess sighed. “I thought it might have been my father,” she said, “he was lost at sea, you know.” The Under-lad nodded sympathetically and went away. “He doesn’t seem such a bad sort,” said Mavis. “No,” said the Princess, “I can’t understand it. I thought all the Under Folk were terrible fierce creatures, cruel and implacable.” “And they don’t seem so very different from us—except to look at,” said Bernard. “I wonder,” said Mavis, “what the war began about?” “Oh—we’ve always been enemies,” said the Princess, carelessly. “Yes—but how did you begin being enemies?” “Oh, that,” said the Princess, “is lost in the mists of antiquity, before the dawn of history and all that.” “Oh,” said Mavis. But when Ulfin came with the next meal—did I tell you that the Jailer’s son’s name was Ulfin?—Mavis asked him the same question. “I don’t know—little land-lady,” said Ulfin, “but I will find out—my uncle is the Keeper of the National Archives, graven on tables of stone, so many that no one can count them, but there are smaller tables telling what is on the big ones—” he hesitated. “If I could get leave to show you the Hall of the Archives, would you promise not to try to escape?” They had now been shut up for two days and would have promised anything in reason. “You see, the prisons are quite full now,” he said, “and I don’t see why you shouldn’t be the first to get your leaves-tickets. I’ll ask my father.” “I say!” said Mavis. “What do you say?” said Ulfin.