“Oh, you clever, clever boy!” said the Queen. “do let me watch you do it!”
Cyril wrote on a leaf of the book—it was of rough, woolly paper, with hairs that stuck out and would have got in his pen if he had been using one, and ruled for accounts.
“Hide IT most carefully before you come here,” he wrote, “and don’t mention it—and destroy this letter. Everything is going A1. The Queen is a fair treat. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“What curious characters, and what a strange flat surface!” said the Queen. “What have you inscribed?”
“I’ve “scribed,” replied Cyril cautiously, “that you are fair, and a—and like a—like a festival; and that she need not be afraid, and that she is to come at once.”
Ritti-Marduk, who had come in and had stood waiting while Cyril wrote, his Babylonish eyes nearly starting out of his Babylonish head, now took the letter, with some reluctance.
“O Queen, live for ever! Is it a charm?” he timidly asked. “A strong charm, most great lady?”
“Yes,” said Robert, unexpectedly, “it is a charm, but it won’t hurt anyone until you’ve given it to Jane. And then she’ll destroy it, so that it can’t hurt anyone. It’s most awful strong!—as strong as—Peppermint!” he ended abruptly.
“I know not the god,” said Ritti-Marduk, bending timorously.
“She’ll tear it up directly she gets it,” said Robert, “That’ll end the charm. You needn’t be afraid if you go now.”