Free The Steampunk Trilogy by Paul di Filippo Page B

looked anything but motherly. Her exquisite body yet unmarred by any pregnancies, she was as inviting a woman as any Cowperthwait had seen.
    On a card-table in a corner was a partially completed dissected picture, one of the puzzles Victoria enjoyed assembling. Next to it rested her inevitable diary.
    Cowperthwait dropped to one knee. “Your Majesty—”
    Victoria’s voice was throaty. Cowperthwait knew she had trouble with septic tonsils. “You can forget all titles now, silly boy. I’m not queen here. In this house, there are others who know so much more than I, and deserve that title. But I’m learning. Come here, and I’ll show you.”
    Victoria lifted her arms out imploringly. Shocked, Cowperthwait stood and came to sit on the edge of the bed where he could press his case more convincingly.
    “Your Majesty, I realize that the demands of your high office have caused you untold grief, and that it is only natural you would seek to forget all your troubles by adopting a wanton’s role. But you must realize that the nation needs you. The coronation is imminent. And do not forget the personal anguish you have caused your Prime Minister. Viscount Melbourne is beside himself, wondering where you are.”
    “Whatever are you talking about, you foolish man? It was Melbourne who put me here.”
    Cowperthwait felt as if his brain were about to tear itself apart. “Melbourne—?”
    “Yes, Lambie told me it would be part of my education. And he was so right. Why, I’ve met many of the most important figures in the country, on more intimate terms than I could ever achieve in the sterile corridors of state. Writers, artists, members of Parliament, educators. Men and women both. Why, there were even some common laborers who had saved up their money for ages. And the talk has been almost as stimulating as the loving. The secrets I’ve learned, the bonds I’ve forged, the self-confidence I’ve cultivated, not to mention the tricks I’ve learned that will certainly please my darling Albert when we’ve married—These will stand me in good stead for my whole reign. I shan’t have any trouble getting my way from now on, I feel. Oh, I’ve enjoyed it so! It’s a shame it’s almost over.”
    Cowperthwait tried to find his tongue. “Then you have no intention of abdicating—?”
    “Of course not! I’m returning to the Palace tomorrow, for the Coronation rehearsal. It’s all arranged. Now, forget all this talk of matters politic, dear boy. Come here to your little Victoria, and let her make everything all better.”
    Victoria flung her arms about Cowperthwait, pulled him down and began unbuttoning his fly.
    At first hesitant, Cowperthwait soon began enthusiastically to comply.
    After all, one simply did not casually disobey one’s sovereign, however demanding the request. . . .
    It was no trouble to break into Buckingham Palace under the cover of darkness. Security was quite primitive. As an example, in December of that year 1838, “the boy Cotton” would finally be apprehended, after inhabiting the Palace uncaught for several months. Twelve years of age, he was perpetually covered in soot, having often concealed himself in chimneys. He blackened the beds he chose to sleep in, broke open sealed letters to the Queen, stole certain small geegaws and food, and when caught was found to be wearing a pair of Melbourne’s trousers.
    Cowperthwait did not encounter “the boy Cotton” as he made his way down the echoing passages that night toward the Queen’s private bedroom. He followed the directions Victoria had graciously given him earlier that day, after their bout. Cowperthwait had explained his involvement in the subterfuge surrounding Victoria’s absence. It turned out the Queen knew nothing about the mock-Victoria occupying her bed with Melbourne, and he thought he could detect no small jealousy on her part. He did not envy Melbourne the explaining he would have to do tomorrow.
    At the same time, Cowperthwait