Rosa and the birds popped out the door at the side of the Bloody Tower.  A chill swept through her as they raced across the grassy yard that had witnessed the execution of royals who were now her relatives.  Soon they were headed into the heart of London.

“Where should I go to find Chris?” she asked herself.  If she hoped to travel in anonymity, she was disappointed.

 “Sound off!” ordered the penguin sergeant.  “One!”

“Two!  Three!  Four!   …No, I’m Four!  …I am!   …Only because you cut.   Four!  Four!  Six!  Seven!  Eight!  Nine!  Ten!”

“ELEVEN!” shouted Walter, at the end.  “Rosa,” he whispered, “say twelve.”

But she refused.  Ignoring the birds, she walked on.

“Forward March!”

“Three French hens.  Two turtle-doves.  And a partridge in a pear tree.”

“Three French hens.  Two turtle-doves.  And a partridge in a pear tree.”

“How did you know that door led to the outside?” asked the sergeant, as he caught up with Rosa

“I’ve seen a door marked ‘Egress’ before,” she answered without turning her head.  :”I think it means ‘out’.”

“Then why didn’t they just print ‘out’?  “’Egress’ is twice as long.”

“I can only guess the painter got paid by the letter.”

“Well,” said Walter from the back of the line, “maybe he’s got a lot of chicks to feed.”

“Do you mean chicks as in baby birds, or do you mean chicks as in girlfriends,” asked the little penguin, who was just in front of him.

“Both are expensive.”

The penguins all agreed, except one.  “My girlfriend pays her own way,” said one of the fours.  “She’s a Dutch penguin.”

As they marched along, they began to draw a crowd.  Red faced Rosa tried to ignore the cheers and waves as the citizens of London lined up to watch their parade.  Not understanding English, she assumed that the little boys and girls that were so enthusiastically jumping up and down were thrilled to see penguins for the first time.  Or that some of the East Enders may never have seen a live chicken.  She’d have been astonished if she understood.

“H’all ’ail Princess Rosa,” they were shouting.  “Long live ‘er Majesty.  ‘Ip ‘ip ‘urray.”

A wet and bruised frog started to asked something about the plural of prince when one of the boys landed on him.

“Are you going to eat that?” Walter asked.

“Rosa!  Rosa!”

Someone calling in Spanish brought the parade to a halt.

“Ekaraj!  Where did you come from?”

“Blimey!” said one of the Cockney’s, as the elephant entered the lane.  “I’m swearing off this blue ruin.”  And he dashed a bottle of gin to the cobblestones.

“Ouch!” said Walter.  “I cut my beak.  Next time could you pour out a little first?”

“Everyone’s on the pier,” answered Ekaraj.  “Over there.   They’re getting ready to row out against the Armada.”

“Row?” questioned Rosa.

“And they took my crutch,” the elephant added his complaint.  He looked around at the cheering crowd.  “Do you remember that we’re both royalty?  I was a king a long time before you became a princess.”

“Yes.  Yes.  We know.”  Rosa patted his nose.

“Ouch!” replied Ekaraj.

“Is Christopher there too?” Rosa asked in a causal manner, as if the answer was not important to her.

“Sure,” replied the Elephant.  “I told you everybody was there.  Oh!  Everyone except for Larry, that is.  He asked me to drop him off to play with his bowling league.”

“But he’s my wizard.  Why didn’t he come looking for me?”

Ekaraj hedged.

Well?”

“I think he’s of the opinion that your wish is over.”

“Over!  Does it look like I’m living happily ever after to you.”

The elephant looked around again.  “Well, you know…People are cheering you…Hey!  Watch what you’re doing with that pan.”

“WOW!” said the littlest penguin.  His sentiments were echoed by his companions.  They were staring at the most beautiful fowl they had ever seen, that had just landed in front of them.

It was a gorgeous hen with light brown curly feathers, a mop hat, long eyelashes, an apron, and a red garter on one of her drum sticks.

“I think that’s a French hen,” whispered Walter in awe.

“Parlez-vous Francais?” the hen asked.

“N…no,” replied the little penguin.  “But I know a little Pig Latin.”

“Whew!” Henrietta whispered to herself.  She was relieved; that was all the French she knew.

“My name is Henriet-tay,” drawled the bird.  “Maybe you vould like to zee me sometime?  Take me out and spend a leettle money - No?”

“What’ll we do,” asked one of the fours.  “All we’ve got are diamonds.”

“How long have you had that lisp?” asked the little penguin.

“Er…Sound off.” squeaked the penguin sergeant.  “one.”

“two.  three.  four   f…f…five.  six.  seven.  eight.  nine…”

“Marry me!” said the little one.

“Ekaraj and I are going out to the pier to find Chris…I mean the others,” interrupted Rosa.

“We’ll catch up later,” the birds replied, without looking at her.

*     *     *

The carpet carrying Hombre and Colleen set down with a thump in the Pyrenees meadow next to the magic well.  The sword let out another stream of Gaelic curses.

“I agree this time.  That was a hard landing,” Colleen said, while rubbing her bottom.

“Why did I have to leave Harley?” Hombre asked.

“Insurance, I guess.  My father wants to be sure you bring me back.”

“But to separate a man from his pig…”

Colleen didn’t remind him that Harley was a hog.  “Where do we go from here?” she asked

“This way.”  Thrusting the sword through his belt, Hombre rolled up the rug and threw it over his shoulder.  Then they started up the trail he had taken before.

“Ouch!” said the sword.  “Do you have to drag me in the dirt?”

“That’s sure a long way down,” Colleen said a while later, as she stood before the chasm and the bridge looking at the waterfall and the orchard below.

From high above them they heard, ““FE!  FI!  FO!  FUM!  I smell the blood…”

“Oh, that’s nonsense,” said Hombre.  “There isn’t an Englishman within a thousand miles.”

When it found out what the giants were saying, the sword nervously admitted to Colleen that it had been forged in London.  “Have we lost the element of surprise?” it asked.

“I didn’t notice this before,” said Hombre.  He grabbed hold of a green foliage that grow from the valley below and disappeared into the clouds above.  It consisted of strong intertwining vines and broad leafs.  “What do you suppose it is?”

“That’s a beanstalk,” replied the leprechaun.  “Don’t you know?  As in ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’.”

“Really?” said Hombre, fingering one of the leaves.  “I always thought that was his last name.”

A hard climb later, they emerged from the cloud that had been above them to find that they were along side the tallest peaks in the Pyrenees.  And sitting atop it was a gigantic wood and stucco house, with a shingled roof.  It was a single story and rambled rambling way that would someday be known as ranch style.  The rambling was helpful on top a mountain.  It enabled the house to jog around crevices.

Hombre placed Colleen atop the rug on his shoulder and swung from the stalk to the bottom step of the rock hewn porch.

“Why didn’t we just fly here?” asked the sword.

After Colleen repeated the question, Hombre answered, “I never thought of that.”

“Ssh!” said the sword.  “Do you hear something?”  There was a repeated plucked note coming from inside.  “That’s ‘E’ over high ‘C’,” the sword informed them.

“I didn’t know you were musical,” Colleen replied.

Hombre climbed the steps and pushed on the front door while holding the sword aloft.

“Don’t wave me around so much.  You’re making me dizzy,” the sword said.

For obvious reasons, the giants’ home had a high ceiling, but some of the beams look battered and broken.  Hombre wasn’t sure whether that indicated the height of the giants, or the roughness of their play.  The walls also bore evidence of holes that may have been caused by tossing boulders back and forth.  Most of the pictures hung haphazardly; some of them were damaged also.

Other than the note, no sound was heard as they crept into the house.  It was apparent that Zelda was not as faithful a housekeeper as the witches.  Overturned furniture was left that way.  And several rugs bulged where large piles of dust had been swept under them.  The cracks between the tiles on the floor were filled with dirt, and a couple had apple seeds sprouting from them.

Hombre pushed open another door.  “This must be the kitchen,” he said.  On an enormous wooden table sat three bowls of porridge.

Hombre set down the sword and rug.  Taking a running start, he swung himself up on the bench and then to the table top, where he found Colleen and the sword floating along side him on the rug.  “Oh, that’s right,” he said.  “I keep forgetting.”

Colleen stepped off the rug and stuck her finger in the largest bowl.  “Ow!  This porridge is too hot,” she said, putting her finger in her mouth.

Hombre checked the next one.  “This porridge is too cold.”

“That third one is all gone,” added the sword.

They decided to fly through the rest of the house.  This had the advantage of making the door knobs accessible to them.  “They need better plumbing,” Colleen said, holding her nose, as Hombre hastily re-shut one door.

“Look at all that gold.”  Hombre whistled, when the rug set down in the giants’ treasure room.

“Wait a minute,” said Colleen, after she picked up a large doubloon.  “This is fool’s gold.”

“How can you tell?” asked Hombre.

Colleen gave him a look.  “If there’s one thing Leprechauns know, it’s gold.”  She banged a penny against the floor.  “And this appears to be some sort of lead.  Look a plug nickel.”

“Financially these giants are in bad shape.” observed Hombre.  “The only thing else they have is diamonds.”  He pointed to several barrels brimming with the gems.

“The plucking seems to be coming from the next room,” the sword whispered to Colleen.  When she mentioned it to Hombre, he tiptoed over and pushed on the door.

Lying exhausted on a table was a brown chicken using one wing to wipe the sweat off its brow and the other to hold a tin cup.  One of three giants was untying a parchment from its leg which was dangling over the edge.  “It’s from message from Swan, “ the hen said between gasps.  She took a sip.  “…Don’t you have anything stronger than tea?”

“Here,” the littlest of the three giants replied, taking a hip flask from his pocket and attempting to add it to the cup.  But cups for chickens are smaller than giants are used to.  Most of it splashed over the hen.

She wasn’t offended.  “Ahh!” she said.  “When I die, I want to be sautéed in this stuff. By the way, my name’s ...”

“Yes.  Yes.  Henrietta.  We know,” said the biggest of the three.  “We knew your grandmother before Jack stole her.

“I hate Englishmen,” said the middle giant.

“Murray was especially fond of your grandmother.  I’m Bob and this is Lou.

“At least we still have the harp,” Murray continued, pointing at a golden harp that was busy plucking its strings..

This Hombre was able to translate.  Being on the border of France and Spain, the giants were fluent in all three languages common to the region.  With the Devil Chicken, they were using Spanish.

“Say!  All the strings on that harp are tuned to the same note,” said Colleen.

“That’s what I told you,” said the sword.  “’E’ above high ‘C’.”

“Leprechauns tune the strings on their harps to all different notes

“Yes,” replied the sword, “But Leprechauns are looking for the note; this harp’s found it.”

“Don Swan asks for our help defeating the English,” Bob read, after opening the parchment.  “He suspects that England’s allies will try to march up the Spanish Trail, that runs from Italy and past Germany until it reaches the Netherlands, were they’ll attack the Army of Flanders.  He wants us to head them off at the Belgium Pass.  There’s payment involved.”

“How much does he want us to pay him,” asked Murray.

“No, no.  He’s willing to pay us.  We get to keep the chicken.”

“What?” squawked Henrietta.

“That’s wonderful,” said Murray.  He asked the chicken, “Do you like Parcheesi?”

“Do you know you’re being spied on?” came a voice from behind Hombre and Colleen.

Colleen and Hombre whipped around.  “Shamus!” she cried.  “What are you doing here?”

*     *     *

 “Everything’s ready.  It’s about time for us to cast off to fight the Armada,” Randolph said, as he stood proudly on the dock looking at his dinghies.

“Ronnie and I will be waiting for you,” Gretel said.  “Praying for your safe return.”

Ronnie kissed her brother on the cheek and told him.  “I’m taking your wife shopping to keep her from worrying.  Do you have any money?”  After taking Randolph’s purse, she shook hands with Bruce. 

When she went to kiss Chris, he hedged back.  “I thought for sure Rosa would come to see us off,” he said.  “After all these are her mother’s boats.  I think I’ll just go up to the street and have a look.”

“Don’t be long,” ordered Randolph.  “We sail…er…row in five minutes.”

“I must be seeing things,” Chris said to himself, as he reached the top of the pier and looked down the street.  “That looks like Ekaraj coming this way at the head of a parade.”

But he never had a chance to find out.

“Arrest that man.”

While the constables were hauling Christopher off, William, ran onto the pier – holding a bag of coins.  He stopped as he passed Ronnie, then went back and kissed her, before jumping into the boat with Bruce.  “Are you daft, man?” he said.  “Shove off before they catch me…er…us.”

As the fourteen boats bravely rowed down the Thames, Ronnie touched her lips and said to her sister-in-law, “I don’t think that was Chris.”

*     *     *

 “There.  Now everything is cozy,” said the Countess as she finished making Rosa’s bed.

It certainly was, though Huberto.  It was astonishing, the way a woman could make a place comfortable.  He’d forgotten that in the years he’d been a widower.  Now there were curtains over the window and doilies on the table.  The table had been repaired and the shattered glass swept away.  The countess was an energetic woman.  For some reason, it didn’t occur on him that he could understand her.

Dinner plates for two, along with utensils and a romantic candle sat on the doilies.  “We have more weapons than we need anyway,” one of the ladies explained, as she added a tea spoon.  “And who knows when company might drop by.”

A wicker basket held breadsticks and cut cheese.  Grapes were placed on each plate.  And a bottle of some vintage sat in a bucket filled with ice chipped from a block.  “The flight home won’t be quite so bad now we’re not sitting on that,” said Aberdeen.

The floor was mopped and waxed.  And Huberto could almost swear there was a new coat of paint on the walls, it was scrubbed so clean.

They attempted to lay one of the rugs on the floor, but it kept rising.  “That doesn’t look right,” admitted the Countess.  So they decided to forgo it.  “Too bad the prisoners didn’t break off larger rocks,” she added.  “We could have placed them at the corners.”

*     *     *

 “Excuse me.”  A hand came down on Rosa’s shoulder as she neared the pier.

Instantly Sir Francis Drake was flat on his back, pinned by ten penguins and a rooster.

“Well!  I never,” said the hen they had abruptly left.  She was not used to being abandoned.

The birds themselves were astonished that a threat to Rosa would impel them to leave a beautiful French Hen.  “Maybe she’s got a better personality than we thought,” suggested the littlest penguin.  The others just shrugged before they ducked to avoid a cooking utensil.

“Ouch!” said the naval hero.  “Is that clean?”

“When did you learn Spanish?” Rosa asked suspiciously, while waving her frying pan menacingly in the air.

“That was a mild deception,” replied Admiral Watanabe, who was standing back out of the way.  He spread out his hands to include Sir Francis and the weapons inspector.  “We were hoping that by hiding our ability to understand you, we could trick you into revealing what secrets you knew about the Spanish invasion.  Have you ever put a glass to a wall to hear what’s being said on the other side?”

“Sure,” said Rosa.  “Lots of times.”

“Apparently,” continued the Admiral, “that doesn’t work through solid rock.”

“I’ll trade you a diamond for that watch fob,” offered one of the penguins sitting on Sir Francis’s chest.

“You don’t look like a drake to me,” Walter informed him.

“But Randolph already has a count of the ships in the Armada.  Didn’t he turn that in?”

“Sadly, it was lost in Lapland.  Apparently, it’s in the possession of some Elf or Goblin who acts as the concierge to a Snow Hag?”

“Eddie,” said Rosa.

“Or Geowulf,” added the penguin sergeant.

“Sets a nice table,” Walter added.  “I wonder what ever happened to that little one called Jerry?”

“Can I get up now?” the naval hero asked.

Reluctantly Rosa’s protectors got off Drake.  He slowly arose…losing a watch fob in the process.  “We were able to get a recount of the Armada from the original crew of the sloop.  They just returned back to London.  They had some terrible things to say about you.”

“What?” said Rosa.

“That’s about right,” said Walter.  The penguins nodded in agreement.  “Hey!  Watch it!”

“Can I have that pan back?  I wasn’t finished with it…” the weapons inspector started to ask.  “Hey!…Never mind.”  And he fled back into his kitchen.

“I meant that as a compliment,” Sir Francis continued.

“Well, that was a terrible compliment.  Do you have any relatives named Chris?”

“I think they meant you were terrible…er…terrifying fighter.”

“Men are not very good at compliments, are they?”

“Did you destroy – or cause to be destroyed - one of her Majesty’s sloops?”

“Not entire,” Rosa hedged.  “Do you call it destroyed if it’s still floating on the surface – only upside down?”

“They’re rather difficult to sail that way,” the admiral put in his two cents worth.

“How many notches do you have on that pan?” Sir Francis continued.

Nervously Rosa ran her thumb over the groves in the handle.  “There’re twenty…if you count goblin shins and an obnoxious boyfriend.”

“Let’s come right to the point,” Drake said.  “At first we were suspicious of you.  It’s not everyday that the Queen has a Spanish daughter.  But the sailors insist you defended Her Majesty’s sloop.  And…well…now England needs you - in this its desperate hour.”

“But you admit I’m Spanish.”

Admiral Watanabe interjected, “Spain is not very happy with you.  Did you know that you’ve even lost your inheritance of Royal Tax collector?“

“Humph!  As if I care.  Wait!  Do they think I’m a traitor?” she gasped.

 “Rosa’s no traitor!” insisted Walter.

“No!” agreed the penguins.

“She is a little rude,” admitted the littlest penguin.

“And insensitive,” added Ekaraj, rubbing his nose.

“She’s also bossy,” continued Walter, “and willful, selfish, stubborn, deceitful, spiteful, mean…”

“Walter, shut up!”

“Yes, dear.”

“He was just trying to help,” interjected one of the fours.  Rosa rolled her eyes.

“But we like her,” said the sergeant.  The entire menagerie agreed.

“You fought against a Spanish privateer when it attacked an English sloop,” Admiral Watanabe continued – when he could.

“But I wasn’t fighting against Spain,” Rosa insisted.  “I was escaping from the evil Don Swan.  Besides Chris was on that little boat…I mean the sailors on the sloop were my friends.  I had to defend it”

“Let me ask you a question.  If Chris and the King of Spain were floating on a piece of wood in the middle of the English Channel it came to a choice between saving Chris or the King, who would you choose?”

“Are you sure I couldn’t let them both drown?   …Oh, my goodness!  Maybe I am a traitor.  No!  I don’t believe it.  I think it’s best that England and Spain don’t fight.”

“But you have to support England,” replied Sir Francis.  “You’re the daughter of Queen Elizabeth - possibly heir to the throne.”

“I thought the heir to the English throne was the Queen’s cousin, Jimmy.’

The Admiral said.  “Er…Let’s leave Jimmy out of this for now.”

“I’m going to talk to my mother and have her call off this silly war.”

Just then the royal weapons inspector came rushing back.  “The Queen’s been kidnapped.  She was taken from Rosa’s cell.”

“I’ll be she was coming to tuck me in,” said Rosa, with a flash of motherly insight.

“Here is the only clue,” added the inspector.  “The culprits left this behind.”  And he held up a brown chicken feather.”

“I think I know her,” gasped Walter.

*     *     *

The hens held on to one end of the lumpy canvas and pulled.  It unrolled across the floor of Swan’s cabin finishing with a thud against the far wall.  “Ta Da!” said a Henrietta.  “Here is Rosa.”

“I don’t remember her having red hair,” Swan replied.

“We think they dyed it – as a punishment.”

“They inflict all sorts of horrors upon people in the Tower,” added another.

“She’s taller and heavier too,” said a hen, who remembered previously nabbing Rosa from the Danube.

“I’m not Rosa,” replied the captive, revealing that she too spoke Spanish.  She adjusted her crown, and said, “I’m Queen Elizabeth.”

“Blimey!” said the Snow Hag.  “They’ve gone and changed her name too.”

*     *     *

Gretel, Ronnie waved until dinghies disappeared from view and they missed all the excitement on the street behind them.  It  took awhile for the boats to vanish because set off while the tide was coming in.  This was a precaution to keep them from accidentally ramming the rest of the fleet, which had sailed earlier - with the tide.

“Oh, I missed them,” said Llywarch, as he hurried onto the pier.  “I was going to tell Chris we won our first bowling game.  Actually it was a forfeit – but anything that puts a mark in the ‘W’ column is good by me.  Sir Francis Drake didn’t show up.  I can’t understand what he had to do that was more important than bowling.”

“Larry!  Gretel!  Hello.  Imagine meeting you here,” a familiar voice called from land.

They turned and were astonished to see the goblins from Lapland coming out on the pier to greet them

“Eddie, what are you doing in England?” Gretel asked.

“It’s Geowulf today,” the goblin replied.  “We’re on vacation…The snow melted and we could finally do yard work again.  So we figured this was as good time to take a holiday as any.  We’re back working for King Robin now.  You remember Garath, Galen, Gerick, and Gary, don’t you?”  He pointed to the goblins, who were all dressed as tourists.  They were wearing unfastened flower print shirts and Bermuda shorts.  Their long johns could be seen underneath, running from their chests to the top of their shorts and again from the bottom of their shorts to their bare feet, which were shoved into flip flop sandals.  They were each holding a bag of oranges.

 “Er…Ronnie, these are the goblins.  We told you about them.  This is my sister-in-law, Ronnie.”

“Say!” Llywarch realized.  “You’re speaking English.”

Well, sure,” replied Geowulf.  “My mum was English.”

“Same here,” said Garath, Galen, Gerick, and Gary.

“We call ourselves twins two and a half times,” continued Geowulf.

 “Where’s Rosa?” asked Gary.  “Is she still carrying that pan?”  He subconsciously rubbed his shin.

“Rosa’s now the daughter of Queen Elizabeth.”

“HA!” replied Gary.  “I knew she’d come to a bad end.  Would anyone like an orange?”

“Thank you,” Gretel

“NO!  Don’t peel them,” said Geowulf.  “We’re taking them to the theatre.”

“What for?” asked Ronnie.