Free Queen Liliuokalani: Royal Prisoner by Ann Hood

moment, she was sitting on a veranda at the palace waiting for Felix so they could walk together into the bustle of Honolulu. While she was convalescing, he had learned his way around the busy streets. And sitting on a veranda at a palace, nibbling on fresh pineapple and gazing out at birds-of-paradise and hibiscuses and orchids was not unpleasant. Not in the least. Yet Maisie was beginning to get that urge to go home, despite all the problems waiting for her there.
    Felix appeared in the garden and waved to her. His skin had browned in the sun, making his eyes seem even greener. And the salt air made his cowlick stiffer and straighter, like an antenna, Maisie thought.
    “What are you giggling about?” Felix asked her suspiciously.
    “Your hair,” Maisie said, getting to her feet and stretching.
    Out of habit, she touched the egg-shaped lump on the back of her head where the surfboard had hit her, and winced. It still hurt.
    Maisie and Felix walked around the grounds, to the gate that led out to the street. The air was hotand the sun was strong, but still a soft breeze blew from time to time, cooling their skin and sending the palm trees rustling.
    “So,” Felix began, and Maisie knew she was about to hear a speech he’d rehearsed.
    “Even though life here is pretty great,” he continued, “and even though things back home are…in flux—”
    “That’s one way to describe it,” Maisie interrupted.
    “We still need to figure out how we’re going to get back without the crown,” he finished.
    “Maybe this is what Great-Uncle Thorne meant when he said to use the anagram when we’re in a pickle. This qualifies as a pickle, I would say.”
    Maisie saw the bewilderment on her brother’s face.
    “Oops,” she said. “That’s the thing I neglected to mention.”
    Felix stopped walking and threw his arms in the air in exasperation.
    “You didn’t tell me how to use the anagram the right way?” Felix said, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses.
    “I did,” Maisie said quickly. “Sort of,” she added.
    “What else did he say?” Felix insisted.
    “I heard how sad you were that night back in New York, and I had the crown with me, and I just wanted to make you feel better,” Maisie explained.
    That was the truth, wasn’t it? Even then she’d known that she should tell Felix everything Great-Uncle Thorne had said, but it was so unusual for her brother to want to time travel that she hadn’t wanted to miss the opportunity.
    “Maisie?” Felix asked impatiently.
    “He said it would give us information—”
    “I know that! You already told me. We already
did
that!” he said, his exasperation growing by the second.
    “Okay, okay. He said that we could also use it if we were in a pickle. That’s exactly the word he used. A pickle. Danger—”
    “Thank you! I know what it means to be in a pickle, since I spend half my life in one with you!”
    Felix started to walk again, his head bent, his lips moving as if he were speaking to himself. Maisie fell into step beside him.
    “I think this constitutes a pickle, don’t you?” she asked.
    “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Felix said. “We aren’t exactly in danger. In fact, we’re safer than we’ve been other times.” He thought of the ship fire with Alexander and fleeing to Shanghai with Pearl, and shivered.
    “But we can’t get home,” Maisie reminded him.
    “Did Great-Uncle Thorne happen to mention how we use the anagram if we don’t have the crown?”
    Maisie shook her head no.
    “Usually, we both hold on to the object and that sends us back in time,” he said, and Maisie knew he didn’t expect her to weigh in, that he was just thinking out loud. “This time, we said…well, we said what we said and held on, and it sent us into that…funnel thing…and we learned where we were and who we had to give the crown to.”
    He paused, his face set with concentration.
    “Then we both held on and said it again, and we