“Oh,” Malone said. “Sure. Sure. Oh.”
There was a longer silence.
“Can I get on board now?” Luba said.
“There isn’t any hurry,” Malone said. “We’re still waiting for—for passengers. And this is one of them.” He turned and indicated the Queen. “This is Her—Rose Thompson. She’ll be traveling along with us.”
Her Majesty was wearing a broad, broad grin, Malone noticed nervously as he turned. Undoubtedly she had been tuned in to the whole conversation, and knew just what had gone on in both minds. But she only said, “I’m very pleased to meet you, my dear.”
Lou blinked, smiled and stretched out her hand. “Well, then,” she said. “Hello. And let’s all have a happy trip.”
“By all means,” Malone said. “And the trip seems to be about to start.”
He could hear the tramping of a lot of feet coming across the field toward them. He looked and saw that the feet were all neatly attached to bodies, two to a body. There were Thomas Boyd’s feet, the assorted twelve feet of six FBI agents, and three pairs that belonged to Alexis Brubitsch, Ivan Borbitsch and Vasili Garbitsch. Brubitsch looked even fatter than ever, Borbitsch even thinner. Garbitsch was of an indeterminate middling shape; he had grey hair and a pair of pince-nez, and he walked a trifle unevenly, like a duck, with his hands clasped low in front of him. He was looking down at the ground as the crowd shoved him along.
When the crowd neared the steps, Luba went over to him. Garbitsch looked up, with a pleasant, somehow wistful smile on his face. “Hello, Luba, my child,” he said.
Luba smiled, too. “Hello, Dad,” she said. “All ready to go?”