The BFG (17 page)

‘Oh yes, Your Majesty. He’s out there in the garden now.’

‘Is he indeed,’ the Queen said. The sheer absurdity of it all was helping her to regain her composure. ‘So he’s in the garden, is he?’ she said, smiling a little.

‘He is a
good
giant, Your Majesty’ Sophie said. ‘You need not be frightened of him.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ said the Queen, still smiling.

‘He is my best friend, Your Majesty.’

‘How nice,’ the Queen said.

‘He’s a lovely giant, Your Majesty.’

‘I’m quite sure he is,’ the Queen said. ‘But why have you and this giant come to see me?’

‘I think you have dreamed that part of it, too, Your Majesty’ Sophie said calmly.

That pulled the Queen up short.

It took the smile right off her face.

She certainly
had
dreamed that part of it. She was remembering now how, at the end of her dream, it had said that a little girl and a big friendly giant would come and show her how to find the nine horrible man-eating giants.

But be careful, the Queen told herself. Keep very calm. Because this is surely not very far from the place where madness begins.

‘You
did
dream that, didn’t you, Your Majesty?’ Sophie said.

The maid was out of it now. She just stood there goggling.

‘Yes,’ the Queen murmured. ‘Yes, now you come to mention it, I did. But how do
you
know what I dreamed?’

‘Oh, that’s a long story, Your Majesty’ Sophie said. ‘Would you like me to call the Big Friendly Giant?’

The Queen looked at the child. The child looked straight back at the Queen, her face open and quite serious. The Queen simply didn’t know what to make of it. Was someone pulling her leg? she wondered.

‘Shall I call him for you?’ Sophie went on. ‘You’ll like him very much.’

The Queen took a deep breath. She was glad no one except her faithful old Mary was here to see what was going on. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘You may call your giant. No, wait a moment. Mary, pull yourself together and give me my dressing-gown and slippers.’

The maid did as she was told. The Queen got out of bed and put on a pale pink dressing-gown and slippers.

‘You may call him now,’ the Queen said.

Sophie turned her head towards the garden and called out, ‘BFG! Her Majesty the Queen would like to see you!’

The Queen crossed over to the window and stood beside Sophie.

‘Come down off that ledge,’ she said. ‘You’re going to fall backwards any moment.’

Sophie jumped down into the room and stood beside the Queen at the open window. Mary, the maid, stood behind them. Her hands were now planted firmly on her hips and there was a look on her face which seemed to say, ‘I want no part of this fiasco.’

‘I don’t see any giant,’ the Queen said.

‘Please wait,’ Sophie said.

‘Shall I take her away now, ma’am?’ the maid said.

‘Take her downstairs and give her some breakfast,’ the Queen said.

Just then, there was a rustle in the bushes beside the lake.

Then out he came!

Twenty-four feet tall, wearing his black cloak with the grace of a nobleman, still carrying his long trumpet in one hand, he strode magnificently across the Palace lawn towards the window.

The maid screamed.

The Queen gasped.

Sophie waved.

The BFG took his time. He was very dignified in his approach. When he was close to the window where the three of them were standing, he stopped and made a slow graceful bow. His head, after he had straightened up again, was almost exactly level with the watchers at the window.

‘Your Majester,’ he said. ‘I is your humbug servant.’ He bowed again.

Considering she was meeting a giant for the first time in her life, the Queen remained astonishingly self-composed. ‘We are very pleased to meet you,’ she said.

Down below, a gardener was coming across the lawn with a wheelbarrow. He caught sight of the BFG’s legs over to his left. His gaze travelled slowly upwards along the entire height of the enormous body. He gripped the handles of the wheelbarrow. He swayed. He tottered. Then he keeled over on the grass in a dead faint. Nobody noticed him.

‘Oh, Majester!’ cried the BFG. ‘Oh, Queen! Oh, Monacher! Oh, Golden Sovereign! Oh, Ruler! Oh, Ruler of Straight Lines! Oh, Sultana! I is come here with my little friend Sophie… to give you a…’ The BFG hesitated, searching for the word.

‘To give me
what
?’ the Queen said.

‘A
sistance
,’ the BFG said, beaming.

The Queen looked puzzled.

‘He sometimes speaks a bit funny, Your Majesty,’ Sophie said. ‘He never went to school.’

‘Then we must send him to school,’ the Queen said. ‘We have some very good schools in this country.’

‘I has great secrets to tell Your Majester,’ the BFG said.

‘I should be delighted to hear them,’ the Queen said. ‘But not in my dressing-gown.’

‘Shall you wish to get dressed, ma’am?’ the maid said.

‘Have either of you had breakfast?’ the Queen said.

‘Oh,
could we
?’ Sophie cried. ‘Oh,
please
! I haven’t eaten a thing since yesterday!’

‘I was about to have mine,’ the Queen said, ‘but Mary dropped it.’

The maid gulped.

‘I imagine we have more food in the Palace,’ the Queen said, speaking to the BFG. ‘Perhaps you and your little friend would care to join me.’

‘Will it be repulsant snozzcumbers, Majester?’ the BFG asked.

‘Will it be
what
?’ the Queen said.

‘Stinky snozzcumbers,’ the BFG said.

‘What
is
he talking about?’ the Queen said. ‘It sounds like a rude word to me.’ She turned to the maid and said, ‘Mary, ask them to serve breakfast for three in the… I think it had better be in the Ballroom. That has the highest ceiling.’ To the BFG, she said, ‘I’m afraid you will have to go through the door on your hands and knees. I shall send someone to show you the way.’

The BFG reached up and lifted Sophie out of the window. ‘You and I is leaving Her Majester alone to get dressed,’ he said.

‘No, leave the little girl here with me,’ the Queen said. ‘We’ll have to find something for her to put on. She can’t have breakfast in her nightie.’

The BFG returned Sophie to the bedroom.

‘Can we have sausages, Your Majesty?’ Sophie said. ‘And bacon and fried eggs?’

‘I think that might be managed,’ the Queen answered, smiling.

‘Just you wait till you taste it!’ Sophie said to the BFG. ‘No more snozzcumbers from now on!’

There was a frantic scurry among the Palace servants when orders were received from the Queen that a twenty-four-foot giant must be seated with Her Majesty in the Great Ballroom within the next half-hour.

The butler, an imposing personage named Mr Tibbs, was in supreme command of all the Palace servants and he did the best he could in the short time available. A man does not rise to become the Queen’s butler unless he is gifted with extraordinary ingenuity, adaptability, versatility, dexterity, cunning, sophistication, sagacity, discretion and a host of other talents that neither you nor I possess. Mr Tibbs had them all. He was in the butler’s pantry sipping an early morning glass of light ale when the order reached him. In a split second he had made the following calculations in his head: if a normal six-foot man requires a three-foot-high table to eat off, a twenty-four-foot giant will require a twelve-foot-high table.

And if a six-foot man requires a chair with a two-foot-high seat, a twenty-four-foot giant will require a chair with an eight-foot-high seat.

Everything, Mr Tibbs told himself, must be multiplied by four. Two breakfast eggs must become eight. Four rashers of bacon must become sixteen. Three pieces of toast must become twelve, and so on. These calculations about food were immediately passed on to Monsieur Papillion, the royal chef.

Mr Tibbs skimmed into the Ballroom (butlers don’t walk, they skim over the ground) followed by a whole army of footmen. The footmen all wore knee-breeches and every one of them displayed beautifully rounded calves and ankles. There is no way you can become a royal footman unless you have a well-turned ankle. It is the first thing they look at when you are interviewed.

‘Push the grand piano into the centre of the room,’ Mr Tibbs whispered. Butlers never raise their voices above the softest whisper.

Four footmen moved the piano.

‘Now fetch a large chest-of-drawers and put it on top of the piano,’ Mr Tibbs whispered.

Three other footmen fetched a very fine Chippendale mahogany chest-of-drawers and placed it on top of the piano.

‘That will be his chair,’ Mr Tibbs whispered. ‘It is exactly eight feet off the ground. Now we shall make a table upon which this gentleman may eat his breakfast in comfort. Fetch me four very tall grandfather clocks. There are plenty of them around the Palace. Let each clock be twelve feet high.’

Sixteen footmen spread out around the Palace to find the clocks. They were not easy to carry and required four footmen to each one.

‘Place the four clocks in a rectangle eight feet by four alongside the grand piano,’ Mr Tibbs whispered.

The footmen did so.