Raclette and the Siege of Mont d'Or

1. A Suitable Mouse

"We must insist upon it this time, really, Geramont. It's not as if we haven't given her any choice or time. She's being obstinate. We should put our foot – feet – oh, whatever, down." Queen Emmental arranged her night cap and shook the lace ruffles on her voluminous white night-gown.

King Geramont blew out the candle on the dressing table, ran a hand through his short white hair, and clambered wearily into bed beside her. It had been a long day taken up with meetings with foreign delegations, signing agreements until his eyes and fingers ached, briefing ambassadors, a tedious discussion with his Prime Minister in which the latter had tried to persuade him about a potential threat to the throne, and now this from his wife. It was too much.

Smoke from the dead candle eddied sideways and upwards past the four-poster curtains, into the room's dark corners, as the light from the rising sliver of moon cast a silver-pink track across the purple satin bed cover.

"Will it make any difference?" Geramont asked, trying to push his night-shirt down. "She usually manages to get around us somehow. Don't you think we should just let things take their course? She's still young, after all."

"She's older than I was when we got married," retorted Queen Emmental. "I know Mozzarella and Zottarella got married young but that's all the more reason why she should hurry up. She's going to be eighteen next birthday. 30th October! There's not much time left. The oldest daughter marrying last, let alone waiting this long – it's not right! I said so before Mozzarella got married. My father would never have allowed me to marry before my sister. By the way, a letter came from Mozzarella today. She says that Jack is over the moon because he's hit a new seam in the mine; apparently no-one expected it to be there, but he had always sworn there would be something and he was right." The Queen broke off to take breath and Geramont seized the opportunity.

"Yes, I've never known anyone to have such a nose for a cheese seam. Mozzarella found a good match there." He took off his spectacles and laid them on the bedside table.

"And she says she's put on pounds since she's been in California. It's such a battle for her, poor thing – Oh! maybe she's expecting and this is just a hint."

"She was always fond of eating. Expecting or not, she ought to be careful. You know how rich the food is in America."

Emmental arranged the lace ruffles on her collar, smoothed back her cream-coloured ears and fur, and settled her own ample proportions into the pillows. "She's not a bit like Zottarella. I worry about Zottarella, Gerry. It can't be healthy to be as thin as she is. The last time I saw her, she said that Harz had bought her a new exercise bike so that she can work out on it when it's raining. Another torture instrument! I ask you."

"Well, he can afford it; he's made enough money through that business of his."

"Both girls have done very well for themselves, I must say," sighed Emmental with some satisfaction. Then she sighed again. "That's why I'm all the more concerned that Raclette finds a good husband. Do you know, I'm not even sure she wants to get married. She seems far happier doing her youth work than even considering any of the princes we've introduced her to. I know we encouraged her to do something for the street children, but she held yet another party in the Blue Cheese Ballroom today. That's the ninth, this year."

"Well, it's big enough for at least a hundred mice. I'm sure they enjoyed themselves." Geramont yawned and pulled the sheets and blankets up to his chin.

"That's beside the point, Gerry, as you very well know," said Emmental severely. "Really, dear, I don't think you take this seriously at all."

"I do, I assure you, Emma, but I'm tired, it's been a long day, and Raclette isn't going to find a husband overnight. We must just give her time. I'm sure when she's ready, she'll find the right one."