about!
Edward looked up at the imposing mini-castle. "We shall go there first. It is something of a fortress, and I'll wager my aunt has taken it as her own."
"It's not very pleasant in there. Kind of grotesque." Melinda made a face, remembering the last time she'd been inside. The displays had probably gotten more macabre over the years.
But Edward was nodding. "Just the sort of place Auntie Beet would find homey."
IV. In Which Our Hero and Heroine Face an Executioner
Obviously, Melinda had never entered The Tudor House when the park was closed. Although breaking and entering made her nervous, it had one advantage: none of that creepy moaning or whispering was going on. Probably everything was turned off until Tudor Land opened at 10:00 a.m. Melinda looked at her watch. It said
HERE.
So Edward had been right about the Witch's taste. Or lack thereof.
The Tudor House had the charm of an old English manor -- or so the theme park claimed. Melinda didn't know how authentic it was; history had never really interested her. But she knew enough about Henry VIII to find the place eerie. Dark burgundy velvet hangings and thick carpet stifled sound like a pillow over one's face. There was an executioner mannequin with a raised ax in one display. Edward pulled its black hood off and put it over his own head.
Smart of him. It would cause more problems if Beauty saw his human form. But he should have asked her for something to cover his face with while they'd still been home. She wasn't comfortable filching things from the House displays.
He ran a thumb over the blade on the ax. "Quite sharp," he said approvingly. "We should take it."
"Oh, no." Melinda quickly interposed herself between him and the mannequin. "No. It's already bad enough that we're breaking in and you took his hood. We don't need to add stealing weapons to the list."
Edward looked slightly puzzled. "But surely it's here for our use." He stretched an arm over her head, testing the air around the ax. "I sense no dark magic around it."
"Don't you remember what happened to Hansel and Gretel when they ate the old woman's house without asking first?" She tried to push him away from the display, both hands on his unusually muscular torso, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Of course. They burnt her to death."
Melinda decided to try a different tack. She stood back and put her small fists on her hips. "Don't even try to get funny with me, buster," she said in her sternest lecture tone. "They got caught and almost eaten. Besides, in my world, if the police catch you stealing stuff, it can get very ugly." She paused for a dramatic second. "They cut off your hands."
Edward finally stepped back, crossing his arms. "That is a patent falsehood."
"It is not." Well...maybe not one hundred percent. Melinda had heard that in some countries -- or maybe it was Europe a few centuries ago, she wasn't quite sure which -- thieves lost their hands. Of course that didn't happen in America, but Edward didn't need to know such minor technicalities. "You may consult a lawyer if you wish."
He hesitated, but finally turned away without the ax. Another small victory. At this rate winning the war would take about two millennia. She hurried along before he could change his mind.
The main foyer had portraits of Henry's six wives hanging high from dark wooden panels. The queens stared down at Melinda and Edward, their royal countenances as morose and pinched as if they were biting into unripe persimmons. Even Jane Seymour had tight lines around her thin lips. Melinda didn't blame her. She would've had some worry lines too, if she thought she might lose her head for not delivering a healthy baby boy.
"You poor, poor woman," she muttered.
"What's that?" Edward said.
"Nothing." She shook her head. "I just don't like the portraits."
"These are queens, are they not?"
"Yes."
He glanced around. "For queens, they look singularly joyless."
"It was the king that they were married to."
"Being
Edward looked up at the imposing mini-castle. "We shall go there first. It is something of a fortress, and I'll wager my aunt has taken it as her own."
"It's not very pleasant in there. Kind of grotesque." Melinda made a face, remembering the last time she'd been inside. The displays had probably gotten more macabre over the years.
But Edward was nodding. "Just the sort of place Auntie Beet would find homey."
IV. In Which Our Hero and Heroine Face an Executioner
Obviously, Melinda had never entered The Tudor House when the park was closed. Although breaking and entering made her nervous, it had one advantage: none of that creepy moaning or whispering was going on. Probably everything was turned off until Tudor Land opened at 10:00 a.m. Melinda looked at her watch. It said
HERE.
So Edward had been right about the Witch's taste. Or lack thereof.
The Tudor House had the charm of an old English manor -- or so the theme park claimed. Melinda didn't know how authentic it was; history had never really interested her. But she knew enough about Henry VIII to find the place eerie. Dark burgundy velvet hangings and thick carpet stifled sound like a pillow over one's face. There was an executioner mannequin with a raised ax in one display. Edward pulled its black hood off and put it over his own head.
Smart of him. It would cause more problems if Beauty saw his human form. But he should have asked her for something to cover his face with while they'd still been home. She wasn't comfortable filching things from the House displays.
He ran a thumb over the blade on the ax. "Quite sharp," he said approvingly. "We should take it."
"Oh, no." Melinda quickly interposed herself between him and the mannequin. "No. It's already bad enough that we're breaking in and you took his hood. We don't need to add stealing weapons to the list."
Edward looked slightly puzzled. "But surely it's here for our use." He stretched an arm over her head, testing the air around the ax. "I sense no dark magic around it."
"Don't you remember what happened to Hansel and Gretel when they ate the old woman's house without asking first?" She tried to push him away from the display, both hands on his unusually muscular torso, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Of course. They burnt her to death."
Melinda decided to try a different tack. She stood back and put her small fists on her hips. "Don't even try to get funny with me, buster," she said in her sternest lecture tone. "They got caught and almost eaten. Besides, in my world, if the police catch you stealing stuff, it can get very ugly." She paused for a dramatic second. "They cut off your hands."
Edward finally stepped back, crossing his arms. "That is a patent falsehood."
"It is not." Well...maybe not one hundred percent. Melinda had heard that in some countries -- or maybe it was Europe a few centuries ago, she wasn't quite sure which -- thieves lost their hands. Of course that didn't happen in America, but Edward didn't need to know such minor technicalities. "You may consult a lawyer if you wish."
He hesitated, but finally turned away without the ax. Another small victory. At this rate winning the war would take about two millennia. She hurried along before he could change his mind.
The main foyer had portraits of Henry's six wives hanging high from dark wooden panels. The queens stared down at Melinda and Edward, their royal countenances as morose and pinched as if they were biting into unripe persimmons. Even Jane Seymour had tight lines around her thin lips. Melinda didn't blame her. She would've had some worry lines too, if she thought she might lose her head for not delivering a healthy baby boy.
"You poor, poor woman," she muttered.
"What's that?" Edward said.
"Nothing." She shook her head. "I just don't like the portraits."
"These are queens, are they not?"
"Yes."
He glanced around. "For queens, they look singularly joyless."
"It was the king that they were married to."
"Being
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