Timothy grew even angrier when I explained that to him. Bob came storming over. “What does she mean we can’t eat anything in Faery?” He was half-way through one of Queen Beatrice’s pomegranate scones. His jaws were chewing, his mouth full, and crumbs from the unfinished parts were dropping like heavy hail.
Queen Moragana had returned to squabbling with Queen Beatrice. She wasn’t even looking our way anymore, nor apparently noticing that one of our team was eating from the table.
“I don’t know how you found me or how you were able to get arrive here, Timothy,” I said, “but couldn’t we scurry back to the ship? All of us just ignoring Faery’s rules about not eating and drinking while here?”
As I watched, Bob shoved the other half of the scone into his cavernous mouth. His cheeks looked like a chipmunk’s as he mauled the scone about inside his mouth. How many days would the Queen want to keep Bob in Faery? How many days or weeks was a scone worth? Or would it matter really? What if this was all a pretext just to keep me here longer?
“Sh,” Timothy said, scoldingly. He glanced over at Queen Moragana to check if she’d heard. Since she was still arguing with Queen Beatrice, he continued. “It’s not about laws or rules, my darling. It’s about human bodies. If a human holds bits of Faery inside them through eating or drinking something here, the body harbors, which means that the person dies if he doesn’t quickly return to Faery. It isn’t something we can challenge. I can’t take you back until . . .”
I interrupted, charging ahead with my hole in the bucket analogy. “Okay, I guess, if that’s really true and not some propaganda put out by Faeryland, but how can a person stay in Faery without eating, Timothy? I’ll starve if I don’t drink or eat, and every future bite will add to the length of time I have to stay. That means I’ll never get to leave. And now Bob is grounded, will he have to stay even longer than me!”
I felt my eyes getting teary. I wasn’t a crier, but everyone has their limit.
“Penelope, Penelope,” Queen Moragana inserted herself into the conversation. “You won’t die, and your fears are needless. In my kingdom, all food and beverage will be human-friendly, not like here,” the queen assured me.
“What a pity,” Queen Beatrice said. “The human is very entertaining. She taught us tongue twisters. I can now say: Susie sells seashells at the seashore twice without fluster, but that Peter Piper picks pickled potatoes one not so well.”
“Pickled peppers,” I corrected, not meaning to say anything. Unfortunately, both queens heard me and raised their eyebrows almost in sync.
“She must be taught protocol, Cadarone,” Queen Moragana said, snappingly, if there is such a word.
I sighed, irritated not only with the two queens, but with the whole Faeryland ordeal. I desperately wanted to go back to Earth, my Earth, anyway . . . to our elegant and exciting cruise ship, my French lessons, the huge swimming pool, and all those delicious buffets and restaurants where food was approved for human consumption without the need to be sucked into someone’s royal kingdom.