"Mirabel Stonefist, what are you doing back there lounging at your ease while the rest of us-" Primula glared over the stack of stuffed animals.

"I tried to tell her, Miss Primula," bleated the freckled girl. "She wouldn't listen."

"She never does," Primula said to the girl. Then to Mirabel, "Come right out of there; I need to talk to you."

"My feet hurt," Mirabel muttered, but she knew it would do no good. She got up and squeezed back past the corner post of the booth.

"I had to go to the office for my master lists," Primula said, "I have them here." She waved a sheaf of papers.

"And now, majesties, lords and ladies, gentlemen and women of quality, it's time to vote for the Queen of the Ball-" That was Lord Mander Thunderblatt. "We honor the Ladies' Aid and Armor Society, by choosing one among them to reign as queen for a night-meaning no disrespect to Your Majesty, of course… "

"Will you pay attention, Mirabel! Quickly now-you say you didn't have Sergeant Gorse on your list?"

"No, I told you."

"Do you remember who you did have?"

Mirabel thought about it. "Corporal Venturi, Corporal Dobbs, Granish the greengrocer, Stebbins the headgroom of the royal stables…" She noticed Primula ticking these off on the master list. "Er… Harald Redbeard, Skyver Twoswords, Gordamish Ringwearer, Piktush somebody… I can't remember anymore. Someone named Overbite or something like that."