driven mad
by vingt-et-un or poker-dice? Neurotic chorus ponies? Gambling czars
with delusions of non-persecution?

Sitting in the front seat next to Boyd, he watched the unhappy San
Francisco agent manipulating the wheel. In the back seat, Queen
Elizabeth Thompson and Lady Barbara, the nurse, were located, and Her
Majesty was chattering away like a magpie.

Malone eyed the rearview mirror to get a look at the car following
them and the two local FBI agents in it. They were, he thought,
unbelievably lucky. He had to sit and listen to the Royal Personage in
the back seat.

"Of course, as soon as Parliament convenes and recognizes me," she was
saying, "I shall confer personages on all of you. Right now, the best
I could do was to knight you all, and of course that's hardly enough.
But I think I shall make Sir Kenneth the Duke of Columbia."

Sir Kenneth, Malone realized, was himself. He wondered how he'd like
being Duke of Columbia--and wouldn't the President be surprised!

"And Sir Thomas," the Queen continued, "will be the Duke of--what? Sir
Thomas?"

"Yes, Your Majesty?" Boyd said, trying to sound both eager and
properly respectful.

"What would you like to be Duke of?" she said.

"Oh," Boyd said after a second's thought, "anything that pleases Your
Majesty." But apparently, his thoughts gave him away.

"You're from upstate New York?" the Queen said. "How very nice. Then
you must be made the Duke of Poughkeepsie."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Boyd said. Malone thought he detected a
note of pride in the man's voice, and shot a glance at Boyd, but the
agent was driving with a serene face and an economy of motion.

_Duke of Poughkeepsie!_ Malone thought. _Hah!_

He leaned back and adjusted his fur-trimmed coat. The plume that fell
from his cap kept tickling his neck, and he brushed at it without
success.

All four of the inhabitants of the car were dressed in late Sixteenth
Century costumes, complete with ruffs and velvet and lace filigree.
Her Majesty and Lady Barbara were wearing the full skirts and small
skullcaps of the era (and on Barbara, Malone thought privately, the
low-cut gowns didn't look at all disappointing), and Sir Thomas and
Malone (Sir Kenneth, he thought sourly) were clad in doublet, hose and
long coats with fur trim and slashed sleeves. And all of them were
loaded down, weighted down, staggeringly, with gems.

Naturally, the gems were fake. But then, Malone thought, the Queen was
mad.