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I promised to get this up as soon as I could. So, here it is. Thanks so much!
The Queen Susan In Tashbaan
Chapter 10 Means and Ends
Part 2: Still More Means
"exitus acta probat" (the outcome justifies the deeds)
Ovid, Heroides ii. 85
"The end may justify the means as long as there is something that justifies the end."
Leon Trotsky
"Mum, you look lovely!"
And she did, with her hair done in the latest pompadour, wearing a willowy, long-waisted gown and glamorous gloves.
Susan tramped down on her regret as Mum pursed her lips in disapproval. "Susan, you are so pretty and usually have such phenomenal sense. Won't you at least put on some lipstick? That dress is so plain. This is a State dinner!"
A horn sounded outside their flat. "There's Mr. Hill, Mum! He's offered us a lift to the Embassy and we should not keep him waiting!"
"But, Susan, dear…"
Susan pushed her Mum out the door, gathered their bags, and locked the door to the flat. She tucked the key in her bag. She had obeyed the Colonel's order in the dress she had chosen, but as a man, she was certain he would not notice her accessories – and they were smashing, by the Lion! She had a terrific little glass and beaded box clutch. And her shoes! They were little, strappy sandals with a platform, adorable bow, and a heel almost as amazing as those Madame Carrè wore. Her demure gloves matched perfectly. She had pinned her hair into a sleek, sophisticated roll and finished off the ensemble with a rope of pearls.
Taking her frowning mother's arm, she guided her down the stairs.
"Susan, it's not too late…"
"Mum! The Little Black Dress is in Vogue, Lady's Home Journal, and McCall's. It is appropriate, and conservative, and it is what I wish to wear."
"You just look so severe, dear. So much older than you are."
"Well yes, Mum, that is rather the point!"
Peter groaned at the two page discussion of gloves, shoes, hair dos and handbags. He wondered if Rat and Crow had been buried in this nonsense. However, Edmund had not made any of his usual notes, arrows and underlines, so this was all exactly what it purported to be – fashionable drivel in which their sister would, occasionally and unfortunately, indulge.
There was a message hidden here of a different, more taunting, sort. Susan knew precisely what most aggravated their brother and as much energy as Susan could devote to extolling the virtues of women's high heeled shoes and corsets, Edmund could, with equal force, expound upon their evils. Looking more closely, Peter did indeed find the evidence of their little war of wit, words and practical jokes – where Susan had carefully drawn a picture of her amazing shoes for them to admire, Edmund had scribbled a crossbow bolt through them.
Predictably, Peter also found drawn in the margin of the letter the other object of his brother's longstanding ire – a corset. Though it had regrettably been some time since Peter himself had seen them, Edmund had carefully added next to the corset a drawing of what had been in but were now free of the corset. Perhaps, Edmund should be looking to less salacious reading material, or, alternatively, finding a "good," rather than a "nice," girl.
Guy opened the car door for them, winking at Susan as he took in her "costume" for the evening. Susan smiled back.
"Thank you, Mr. Hill," Mum said. She was not nearly as tense about Guy's appearance as she had been. This had led Susan to wonder how Mum might have handled a Narnian banquet with a Faun, a Dryad, and a Badger at table.
"And don't you worry none, Mrs. Pevensie," Guy was saying. "Even if you get called away because of the business with the Ambassador and the Prime Minister, the Colonel and I will make sure Miss Susan gets home safe."
Coming up the drive and into the Embassy with Mum, Susan fully appreciated why the invitations to British events were so coveted. The British Embassy glowed like a jewel on the diplomatic row of Washington. Lights illuminated the drive that was filled with limousines and police cars. Men in uniform and dinner jackets were escorting the elegantly, well-turned out women of the American Capitol.
She had never been to an event with liveried and gloved servants! Even in Narnia… she had to hide the smile at the thought of trying to put a pair of gloves on a Canine or Feline… or a Talking Horse. The inside of the Embassy was shining as the outside was, glittering and twinkling lights, the dinner service laid out immaculately, the 20 piece big band orchestra warming up with light tunes for cocktails, and dancing after dinner. The flowers were astounding, but then, even in war and even with the grounds all dug up, still, the British could garden like no other.
Susan had checked the seating charts and arrangements carefully. Given the expectations for the Ambassador's personal secretary, Mum was in the separate, more secure room with the President and Mrs. Roosevelt, the Prime Minister and the Ambassador and their innumerable staff and aides. With the number of people and what she had seen of the schedule, the whole evening should pass without her seeing her mother at all and if she did, she would be in the company of Colonel Walker-Smythe. She was still bristling a bit over the Colonel's implication that she could not manage this simple sleight of hand. Even knowing he had been harsh precisely to motivate her, she was determined to make this work.
Lord Halifax cooperated brilliantly, demanding the attendance of his personal secretary the moment Mum stepped into the Embassy.
"Don't worry, Mum. I am meeting the Colonel at the bar."
"But Susan, I want you to have fun, and not be…" Her mother turned about sharply to a hovering, fretting assistant and gestured imperiously. "Yes! Tell his Lordship I will join the party in the library in a moment. Find me a pen and a stenographer's pad, would you? There will be cables to send, so see that the office is opened."
The assistant scampered off.
"You are so impressive, Mum!"
Her mother pinked up. "Oh, don't tease, Susan. But I must go. Are you certain?"
"I am fine." She gave her Mum a quick hug and a gentle, firm nudge in the direction of the library.
As anticipated, Susan was now alone and relieved. She first visited with the wait staff and bartenders to make the appropriate, grateful arrangements. Those details attended to, she went out to the terrace and under the shimmering lights, treated herself to a champagne cocktail.
Narnians and Calormenes alike parted before the Tarkheena Masikah and her Narnian escort, Gryphon Aerial Corps Pilot Lord Peridan. Queen Susan diplomatically hid the smile, for it looked very much like predators stalking among scattering herd animals.
"Tarkheena, may I re-introduce you to my Cousin and Commander's wife, Queen Susan of Narnia."
Susan returned the complex curtsey of the Calormene.
"How good to see you again, Queen Susan! How fares your husband, Lord Caspian?"
They had only met once before, in the Tarkheena's courtyard, during the woman's drunken luncheon, yet she remembered Susan's invented-on-the-spot husband and that he was combat wounded.
"His recovery is slow, Tarkheena, but progressing. You are kind to ask." Susan dabbed her eyes for effect; Peridan detangled from the Tarkheena's twining, vine-like grasp to administer a brilliantly performed, awkward and perfunctory pat on his "Cousin's" shoulder.
"You dress though as if you are mourning him," the Tarkheena said, raking over Susan's somber appearance with an astute eye and blunt manner.
Susan did have to wonder whether there was anyone in Tashbaan other than Ambassador Flobber who was not formidably sharp. Tarkheena Masikah was ambitious and gifted with a personality so forceful she had pushed her way on to the Tisroc's own War Council. Under other circumstances, Susan would admire her accomplishments. Here, she required handling more careful than that afforded a Porcupine … or a Skunk.
"I am not mourning, though am of course worried and think on him constantly. Out of deference to my husband, I dress accordingly."
"Peridan, would you be the gallant Sir you are and get me another glass please, while I keep your cousin company?" Tarkheena Masikah had a way of making the request seem like an order and one that you were privileged to obey.
"Of course, Tarkheena." Peridan shot her a look of concern but Susan passed an all's well hand signal. She had been diplomatically managing prickly and oversized personalities far longer than he.
Continuing, and to further their objectives for the evening, Susan said, "Further, I do feel that dressing more somberly is appropriate given the dire circumstances of Narnia."
The Tarkheena pursed her lips in a mild frown. "Yes, Narnia suffers greatly, so we hear." Nodding to where the High King was standing amid advisors and sycophants, she continued, "The High King makes certain the Tisroc knows well of that suffering and of Narnia's need."
"The High King is a great leader to have withstood the Ettins for so long." Susan kept her voice bland and factual, as if speaking of shared assumptions. "He is committed to the defense of Narnia and Archenland, thereby assuring that Calormen's northern border remains held by her allies."
The Tisroc was now with the High King, arm over the shoulder of the other, friends and intimates for all to see. It was everyone else who was the problem.
Taking in the vision of solidarity the two leaders projected, Tarkheena Masikah briefly scowled, took a sip of her drink, and schooled her perfectly chiseled face again into polite interest. "You mention he is a great and committed leader, Susan of Narnia. You forget clever. Your High King is very, very clever man. I trust him as much as I trust the Tisroc, which is to say, not at all, and I trust their friendship even less than that."
Susan did not, could not, rise to these provocative statements. Outright argument would accomplish nothing more than alienation they could ill afford. The Tarkheena was not an enemy to be overcome, but a challenge to be gently engaged, shifted, and declawed. More subtle tactics were called for, with an emphasis not upon the benefits to Narnia, but upon the costs to Calormen.
"Even if you do not trust the High King and the Tisroc, how can an alliance with Narnia against the Ettin menace be counter to Calormen?"
Lightly snorting, the Tarkheena murmured, "It is what the High King seeks from that alliance. I do not believe we can trust Narnia with our weapons, given the harm that has been done with her own. We would arm Narnia with our Gryphons and War Horses and see Narnia turn them on its oppressed colonial possessions."
To argue Narnia policy in Terebinthia and the Lone Islands was to entrench the Tarkheena further and Susan would not seek to defend what was in some instances, indefensible. Pulling in her anger, she sent a quick prayer East. Aslan, Guide Me. One usually sought Aslan before and during battle, for luck, and during personal or wider hardship. Still, the Great Lion valued intelligence and wit as much as courage. Susan had asked for his guidance before, and in circumstances as delicate.
"As distasteful as Narnia may be Tarkheena, surely the Ettins are worse overlords. Whatever wrongs of Narnia's past dealings in her territories, they pale when compared to the atrocities of the Ettins at this very moment."
"Yet one may dislike two things at once. Preference for neither is preferable. My duty is to Calormen First."
They both had to swerve to the side, holding drinks high, as a Labour of Moles bumbled through, holding flower pots. A pair of giggling Holly Dryads followed, wine in hand, and scattering berries as they sashayed by.
"Do you believe the Ettins themselves will permit you to maintain such neutrality?" Susan asked, automatically brushing the dropped berries aside with her toe. "They have no more interest in preserving Calormen than Narnia or Archenland. Total conquest is their aim, and obliteration of all life except their own."
It was the first crack in the Tarkheena. "Yes, that Cookbook." She paled, raised a shaky glass to her lips and drained it. "You know of it?"
"I have heard tell of it." Repeating the script on which Sallowpad had instructed, she continued, "What it shows has long been known of in Narnia."
"I saw the horrid thing today, and have never been so unsettled."
Susan trained her expression to appear wan and sad and placed a sympathetic hand on the Tarkheena's arm. "It is of course very distressing, sworn as you are to the protection of the men, women, and children of Calormen. If you will, think of it as a duty owed that we might bear together, as allies."
"Thank you, Susan of Narnia. I appreciate that generosity and gentleness of spirit."
He might have been listening in through some means or another, Peridan's return was so well timed. With a nod and a smile, he deftly relieved the Tarkheena of the glass she had drunk dry, set it on a passing tray borne by a Faun, and handed her a new, brimming glass.
"Thank you, my Lord," the Tarkheena murmured.
"Are you chilled?" Peridan asked, gently adjusting the Tarkheena's light wrap sliding off her bare shoulders.
"Of the subject, yes, Lord Peridan. We were speaking of the Cookbook recovered today."
Peridan nodded gravely. "Ghastly, is it not, to see how Ettins would torture and cook even children?"
Trusting the pilot to pick up her cue, Susan launched the second offensive upon the Tarkheena Masikah's formidable defenses. "Cousin, with all the other news of the day, I had not heard. Do know how your own company has fared in the Lone Islands?"
"Heavy losses," he said mournfully. "Fully three out of four Gryphons thrown out of the sky and broken by the Ettin boulders and war machines. Of the men, I heard most of the company are dead or taken."
Susan shuddered. She did not know if this was true, but it made for an effective tale now, and was more probable than not. "If taken, then we know their fate." Resting a supporting hand on Peridan's shoulder, she said just low enough so that the Tarkheena would hear, "I am so sorry, my Cousin."
"If taken, surely your men will be kept for a prisoner exchange," the Tarkheena cried, moved in spite of herself.
Peridan scoffed at the Tarkheena's question. "Most assuredly not, Lady. Ettins will eat their captives until they obtain younger meat."
"My Cousin was fortunate to escape them," Susan said, leading again.
"What is this?" Tarkheena asked, softly and intrigued.
Peridan blushed so beautifully, his fearsome scars burned white against his flushing face. "It was nothing, Tarkheena."
"Surely not!" Susan objected. "Has my Cousin been so modest, he has not shared the tale?"
The woman's eyes went wide and hungry. She extended her bejeweled hand to Peridan's scarred cheek and caressed the spidery lines with a long fingertip. "Would you tell me of it, my Lord?"
When a woman begins admiring a man's battle scars, the time for Susan's graceful departure arrived. Peridan's eyes flitted only for a moment in her direction then turned completely to the Tarkheena, Susan forgotten. Taking her lingering hand in his, he smiled. "But of course, Tarkheena. You had only to ask."
They both muttered some polite excuses, but Susan was already backing away.
She nearly tripped over a slinking Ocelot, who looked to have been sneaking a fish from Flobber's newly installed pond. "Watch where you are going, you stupid Cat," snapped an irritable voice in the tree overhead.
"Hello Chief," Susan said looking up to see the Raven.
He bobbed his head twice, signaling he had overheard the conversation with Tarkheena Masikah. "Come with me!"
Susan followed the Raven deeper into the gardens on the grounds. The Residence staff had set up small, intimate tables about Flobber's ponds. Softly glowing lanterns hung from graceful trees. The music of Faun flutes and pipes drifted on the warm night air.
Tarkaan Anradin, owner of The Tattler and the worst muckraker in all the Known Lands, was waiting for them at a table. From ten paces she could smell the spicy scent perfuming his curling red beard. He was a vain, clever, and vicious man.
He did not rise to greet them, but merely gestured at the empty chairs.
"Drink?" he asked, sliding a bottle of the Dwarf Lightning across the table.
"No thank you," Susan said firmly, before Chief could interrupt. She needed to establish swiftly that she was not ornamental. Following an inspiration from the Lion himself, she reached across and picked up Anradin's own glass. A single sniff confirmed her suspicion.
"Perhaps you might share your water, my Lord?"
"You are sharp, Queen Susan."
She would not deign to ask how he knew her name. It was his business to know such things.
"Lovely though you are, your fashion sense is deplorable." His leer was bluntly appraising and his manicured, soft fingers lingered on hers as he retrieved his water glass. "I would delight to help you into a gown more befitting your shapely figure."
Sallowpad opened his beak, but Susan had perfected her responses to such conduct years ago. "I admit my priorities have altered with my husband and country both fighting for their lives. Thank you for offering to introduce me to your wife, who might aid me in dressing in the Calormene fashion."
"Lovely and as sharp as broken glass!"
"Enough of this!" Sallowpad barked. "Continue to treat the Queen Susan in so disrespectful a way and she shall teach you better manners at arrow point. Now, are you interested in our copy of the Ettin Cookbook, or are you wasting our time?"
"Oh, I want it, certainly, and no one is willing to share, thus far," the Tarkaan said. "The Tisroc's security forces won't release it, so I am glad you have scruples as flexible as my own."
"And in return?" Susan asked.
"I have nothing on the Grand Vizier for you."
Again, she did not ask how he knew of Sallowpad's interest in the second most powerful man in Calormen, next in line behind the Tisroc; it was Anradin's business to know what was of concern and value to others.
"Lasaraleen and Ahoshta are the ones who hoard the Grand Vizier's skeletons," the Tarkaan said, twirling his mustache. "I like the man, myself."
"That would not stop you from collecting his skeletons," the Raven observed.
"Of course not."
"What do you have for an in kind trade?" Sallowpad pressed.
He stroked his beard contemplatively and the cloying, sweet scent drifted about the table. "Why should I trade you anything? I do not think you could sell something this hot elsewhere."
Sallowpad fluffed his feathers irritably. "We have seen the Cookbook, Tarkaan Anradin. We know it will sell elsewhere; if you will not deal, we and it leave."
More persuasively, Susan added, "This Cookbook is an extraordinary document, my Lord. Only moments ago, Tarkheena Masikah spoke of it as one of the most disturbing things she has yet seen."
"That shrew? Disturbed?"
The Tarkaan's eyes slid downward, and lingered too long upon her breasts. Sallowpad snapped his beak in warning, but the Chief would do well to observe that Susan was well able to handle this wearying behavior. She reached across the table, put a finger at the Tarkaan's chin and tilted his head upwards.
"Eyes on mine," she chided. "A man of your acumen knows that staring at my chest will tell you nothing of whether Narnia deals fairly with you, my Lord. You are fortunate to be speaking with a Human at all. You would never know if a Crow had cheated you until you woke the next day, still drunk, broke, and naked."
He threw back his head and laughed, then had to quickly move his hand out of the way as Sallowpad moved in to peck it.
"This Crow has had enough!" Sallowpad launched himself from the chair back and flew to a nearby tree.
Susan stood and turned away, following Chief's lead.
"Oh very well!" Tarkaan Anradin cried. "I'll deal!"
Still, she waited until Sallowpad flew back to the table.
The smarmy quality in Anradin's manner was replaced with something more reptilian. "I have reports about the Tisroc's General who leads the campaign against Miraz and the Telmarines."
Sallowpad cocked his head to the side, listening carefully and Susan could see his mind calculating the worth of this information. She kept silent. This required the Chief's expertise and he had the better sense than she of what they should receive in this exchange. Instinct told her that defamatory rumor about the Tisroc's General would not be useful to them – Narnia supported the Tisroc. But, like those skeletons Lasaraleen and Ahoshta kept on the Grand Vizier, valuable information might be hoarded and later traded.
"Go on," Sallowpad said.
"I have confirmed reports that the General slapped and kicked a fevered soldier under his command."
Sallowpad shrugged. "It is a matter of military discipline. That is not worth a document detailing Ettin plans to slaughter and eat Calormenes."
"There is more."
The Raven waited.
"The General has a Telmarine mistress."
Sallowpad casually preened his feathers, disinterested.
"She is fifteen years old," Tarkaan Anradin whispered.
Susan managed, with effort, to remain impassive.
"What proof do you have of this?"
"Love letters."
Fools. Never put anything compromising in letters that could be understood by others.
Sallowpad bobbed his head in assent. "That will do, Tarkaan. We will arrange a mutual inspection of documents and if acceptable, make the trade."
From the Residence, a drum sounded, calling the guests to dinner. Tarkaan Anradin stood. Susan did as Sallowpad did – she neither rose nor offered her hand, but nodded graciously. "We will join you at table in a few moments, my Lord."
"I shall introduce you to my wife, Susan of Narnia!"
With another leering wink, he ambled off on a cloud of perfume.
"Well done, Mrs. Caspian," he finally said. "I have no criticism."
"Thank you, Sir. I appreciate the opportunity to observe you and learn a great deal doing so. "
"Really? And I would say the same of you."
She was not going to answer his invitation for further explication and countered instead. "Though, Sir, may I offer a critique?"
His mouth twitched around the cigar. "Please do so."
"In taking offense on my behalf, you gave him leverage he would not have otherwise had. He knew it irritated you and encouraged him further."
"I agree, Mrs. Caspian, and apologize for my poor control. The reprimands were also far more effective coming from you. So, let that be a lesson to us both, though plainly it was one you already knew, and very well."
"Sir?"
The Colonel rose gracefully to his feet and offered his arm. "I have been doing this a very long time, Mrs. Caspian. I know another professional when I see one."
Susan stood, with poise and confidence of the Queen she was and would always be. "The War has affected us all, Colonel."
"That is your cover story, then?" he asked, smiling through the bushy mustache and cigar.
"It is." She linked her arm with his as the trumpet calling everyone to dinner sounded again.
"Mrs. Caspian, if you believe I am becoming overly protective during dinner, would you please signal that to me?"
"Certainly, Colonel."
The orchestra was taking a break. The Colonel had gone to refresh their drinks, leaving Susan to keep an eye on their muckraker, Drew Pearson. Pearson had switched from water to something far stronger during dinner. Susan steered the gossiping journalist in the general direction of his wife, with the promise to phone him tomorrow about their inspection and exchange of documents.
With the departure of the Prime Minister and his entourage, the party had thinned and those who remained were becoming louder and drunker. As Lord Halifax had left with the Prime Minister, he had summoned Mum as well so that his personal secretary might transcribe the discussions. Susan did not, therefore, have to juggle that complication as well.
"Good evening, Cuz."
Tebbitt materialized in the seat next to hers. He was carrying a lady's wrap.
"And you as well." Flitting her eyes to the stole folded over his arm, she smiled approvingly and asked the obvious, "You are leaving for the evening?"
He nodded curtly and Susan glimpsed the angry set in his jaw before Tebbitt mastered himself. "Guy is bringing the car; the Congresswoman is making her good-byes."
She looked him over but all seemed in order and she resisted the urge to straighten his collar as she might have done to Peter before a particularly loathsome engagement.
"It will be fine," she said, encouraging, trying to avoid the condescension that would only anger him.
"I couldn't even drown my sorrows and deaden the disgust," Tebbitt replied, with a grim smile that moved across his mobile, expressive face to be replaced by his more customary cheerful countenance. He was playacting again. "Did you have something to do with the fact that the bartender watered my drinks and I never did get a full glass of wine with dinner?"
She smiled in return. "I'm afraid so. I did not wish you to become impaired."
They both nodded politely to a Senator who stumbled by with a hand wrapped around a giggling girl not his wife. His drinks had certainly not been diluted.
"I suppose you suffered through most of the consequences on those nights when Caspian and I would go on a bender."
"Precisely, Tebbitt. I know too much drink can ruin the outcome of an otherwise very pleasant evening."
"Well, I did make sure he made it home!"
She laughed. "You did, for which I thank you, Cuz, even if my husband was in no state to receive the welcome he deserved!"
They were such easy lies between them. Live the cover. Susan liked Mrs. Caspian quite well. This married woman could do and say things that Susan Pevensie, even Queen Susan the Gentle, could not.
His eyes moved restlessly across the room, taking in the Congresswoman and her circle of admirers. A twitch spasmed in his cheek.
"She is a beautiful woman. It will be fine," she said, leaning in quietly to speak in his ear, just as the orchestra struck up the first notes of a new number.
"Never mind that that she is a battle-axe and her politics are vile," he muttered back.
They were close enough that Susan plucked a long, blond hair from his uniform jacket and flicked some lint away. "Being with you will moderate her views at a time we need it most, Tebbitt."
"Then perhaps you should sleep with her!"
Susan put a hand on his arm, reassuring and sisterly. "See to the lady first, Cousin. Nature will take care of the rest."
He smirked. "So, my married cousin tells me to do my duty then lie back and think of England?"
"You can do better than that, Tebbitt. Lie back and think of three hundred American tanks, ordered, manufactured, delivered and steaming across the Atlantic to North Africa."
Tebbitt threw his head back and laughed. He rose, leaned in, and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Good evening, Cuz. Don't wait up."
She squeezed his hand in return. "Two stanzas of the Moose Song for this duty, Lord Peridan."
"Only two? Three at least!"
Queen Susan watched proudly as her charge sauntered up to the powerful Tarkheena and gently set her wrap upon her shoulders. Tarkheena Masikah sidled up to her man, smiling, sensuous and proprietary. She took Peridan's offered arm and they walked together toward the doors.
Sallowpad flapped over and landed on the chair Peridan had vacated. The Raven cocked his head to the side, looking at her curiously.
Susan nodded. "It will be well," she told the Raven confidently. "All he needed was management."
Three… two… one…
Edmund got to his feet to head up the stairs, just as Peter shouted from the bedroom, "What in blazes!"
He was getting very good at predicting his brother's reading speed. He stuck his head in the bedroom to see his brother pacing a furrow on the floor, and more livid then he had been in an age or so. Probably since Rabadash, come to think of it. Ironic that.
"Yes she is," Edmund said to his brother, anticipating the outburst and sparing his brother from verbalizing the ugliness.
"And England! We are…"
"Yes, we are," Edmund said.
Peter abruptly spun about, wrath and disgust etched in every movement and feature. "There are some very crude terms for this conduct, brother."
"Yes," Edmund agreed, a bit taken aback. He had not anticipated the complete High King state of righteous fury.
"You need to finish this sequence of letters, Peter, before we can discuss this rationally."
"Rationally?" Peter bit out. "Susan is in the middle of this! Spies are manufacturing lies, prostituting our soldiers, our…"
"Peter!" Edmund had to raise his voice over the rising din and before Peter got going on a true tear. This was really a rare form for him. Peter was bundling his hurt over Asim's betrayal with concern for Susan into a rage against spies generally.
"I do not dispute any of what you say. You need to do what you do so well, take all that emotion, box it up, put it aside, and read to the end."
His brother's eyes narrowed, his face hardening into stone, the cold far worse than the heat. "Tell me, truly. Were you shocked by what Susan has written?"
In his hesitation, Peter's visage grew colder still. "Edmund, we would have never done to our Lord Peridan what is asked of him here."
Edmund managed to not scoff outright at his brother. "It would have never arisen because, to spare him, you would have undertaken such a thing yourself or asked me to do so."
He could see in Peter's face the rapid succession of shock as he remembered, the embarrassment at having forgotten, and the discomfort in recalling those touchy diplomatic situations.
As it nearly always was, Peter's anger was slow to come and quick to fade. "I am sounding quite the hypocrite." Sinking back on to the bed, Peter sighed ruefully. "Susan and I were both dealing with such intrigues within the year."
"And why I tried to use treaties to manage the risks those intrigues posed to our sovereignty."
Peter picked up the letter again. "Please do not tell Susan that this is bringing out all my most smothering and pompous qualities?"
"Not a word." At the door, Edmund turned back, wondering why the most important things men said to one another were always when pretending to be doing something else. "You have been reading of the means, Peter, as uncomfortable as they are. Some of the endgame is already obvious and there is more yet to come."
"So I must continue to read." So stated, it was not really a question.
"Unless you would rather study beetles with Eustace."
Part 3, Ends, to follow
A/N
Historical notes (what I tinkered with):
As mentioned in Chapter 9, Tobruk fell on June 21, 1942 while Churchill visited with Roosevelt in Washington, D.C. Thousands dead, 32,000 Allied prisoners captured, and thousands of tons of food and fuel, and 2,000 vehicles all fell under Nazi control. The Allied tank losses had been severe, reduced to a skeletal force. It was not until the Eighth Army retreated to El Alamein that it was able to make a stand, and a month later was able to halt the Nazi advance, trapping Rommel and his tanks between the Mediterranean and the Qattara Depression.
Also as mentioned, the BSC planted a fake map (not a Cookbook) detailing Nazi designs on the Americas in a Nazi safehouse in Cuba and President Roosevelt used the document in a speech – however, this event and the speech were in fact in 1941, not 1942. The Congresswoman who subsequently tempered her virulently anti-British views (and voting record) after an affair with a British RAF pilot is recounted in The Irregulars: Roald Dahl and the British Spy Ring in Wartime Washington. While the RAF pilot, Roald Dahl, arrived in Washington the same time Susan did (May 1942), the Congresswoman in fact did not arrive in Washington until after the U.S. mid-term elections in November 1942.
A word about fashion
I admit it. I had fun researching Susan's wardrobe. The fabric saving designs and how it changed once the War ended make for fascinating reading. Pictures of 1942 fashions are in my LJ, so you can follow the link, including a picture of The Little Black Dress.
An exchange between Dahl and British Ambassador Lord Halifax about his affair with the Congresswoman is recounted in The Irregulars. I will post it in my LJ. It's spicy but very humorous, and even more so if you imagine that the conversation is between Ambassador Flobber, a Penguin, and Gryphon Aerial Corps Pilot Lord Peridan, with Queen Susan and Sallowpad in attendance. I have taken the liberty of modifying it as to how it might have occurred in The Queen Susan in Tashbaan. There's a little of crude language, and the subject matter of course, but if you've gotten this far, it's no shock. It's in my LJ under "Lie Back And Think of Narnia." If you think I should post it over here on ff dot net, let me know.
The last chapter was nearly the death of me. Thank you to those especially who persevered to leave a review. I know it was hard and I appreciate it so very, very much.
The Narnian Fanfiction Revolution Awards voting begins this week. Links are in my profile. And that's all I'm going to say about that, except thank you again.
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