In the Wrong Space and Time

X

A bold array of bows and numerous quivers of arrows are situated next to them. To my delight, a wicked assortment of knives are laid out conspicuously on a table made of carved stone. The hilts are carved metal, with flowers, crawling vines and dragons gleaming gold and silver, and the blades still look dangerously sharp even after a period of unuse.

I simply have to have them. They're beautiful.

From my peripheral vision, I can see Tyra and F. M. Primero eyeing the guns greedily. A smile pulls the corners of my lips slightly upwards. Every day, I find similarities between this universe and mine, and some are oddly comforting.

"Welcome to the secret Royal Armoury," Queen Elizabeth announces quietly.

"This... this is amazing," I breathe, finding my voice first. "But why did you bring us here?"

"Yes, Your Majesty, that's what I'd like to know too," F. M. Primero pipes up.

"This is the only instance I'll be allowing you to do something against the law," Queen Elizabeth makes her way across the small space and draws a musty blue velvet curtain open, to reveal a large, sturdy-looking cannon. "Take this cannon from the armoury for your own modification and use."

I gasp in astonishment, Tyra's jaw goes slack and F. M. Primero's eyes are blown wide.

"What? You'll just let us take an antique howitzer from the secret Royal Armoury, just like that?" F. M. Primero squawks in a rather undignified manner.

The queen's demeanor is very grave as she looks at us with a determined gleam in her eye. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. And I'm the Commander-in-Chief of the British Armed Forces anyway, so my word is law. Do you need any more weapons?" She poses the question calmly. "I will have them sent to Whittington Barracks tonight."

"How, though?" I cock my head to the side curiously. "You're physically incapable to get a cannon all the way up those stone steps by yourself."

Queen Elizabeth gives me a conspiratorial smile. "My personal bodyguards know about this armoury, and they have devised quite an ingenious method to transport the weapons."

At this, the queen stoops down - albeit with a rheumatic edge to the motion - and pulls a lever in a series of complicated motions, and the entire stone wall to my left shifts to reveal a huge alcove. "It's a lift," Queen Elizabeth chuckles.

As everyone else is preoccupied, I silently make my way to the stone table and carefully line the interior pockets of my blazer with a few knives - just enough to be undetected. Keeping watchful eyes fixed on my companions, I slide the last dagger into my waistband and rejoin the group, walking cautiously to avoid the distinctive jingling of metal on metal.

With much effort, I fight down a grin as I walk back to the others. I've just stolen from the Queen herself. It feels amazing.

"This place is bloody brilliant," Tyra mutters, and F. M. Primero nudges her shoulder and hisses back, "Mind your language!"

"Well, do you need any more weapons?" The monarch speaks up again.

"Some of those grenades would be good, your Majesty," Tyra chips in. "That way, the Biochemical Defence Department won't have to keep manufacturing black powder from scratch. Instead, we'll be able to take these small grenades apart to harvest the gunpowder in them."

"Then it's settled," Queen Elizabeth proclaims regally. "Take all the grenades."

"All the grenades we need?" F. M. Primero asks in surprise.

"No," Queen Elizabeth fixes him with yet another of her signature unnerving stares. "All of them. You need all the weapons you can get in order to have a fighting chance against the Germans. Expect delivery at around ten tonight."