  Captain's Blog We are wintering in Tasmania at the Queen's Hobart Palace. The museum was delighted to get the Joseph Cornell boxes and Etruscan grave markers and the Queen was overjoyed to meet Captain Virginia, whom she immediately commissioned to put the Royal Library, Archives and Fun House in order, which Captain Virginia has been working dutifully at for almost a month now. Representing the homeland, I, of course, spend most of my time taking Diplomatic Teas with the Queen and her Friends and Callers.
The Conversation is always peppered with witty barbs and scathing gossip, but the Queen is a hostess of extreme personal generosity and a supernaturally well-trained kitchen staff who perform harrowingly sublime feats of pastry and conjure sauces fit for the gods, so every afternoon is a joy and I can hardly wait for the next one. Arthur seems to have truly found his element here and scampers about the palace with Delwin and Thimble, Wimble and Celeste, finding secret passages and monk's holes and drawing treasure maps late into the night. Charles has found a tower room with a pleasant view where he prepares his Penguin Lexicon for publication, conferring with Delwin in the mornings. Dr. Bippie has set up shop in the evening parlor and has many buxom female clients who visit him regularly. Apparently men of his talents are hard to find in Tasmania. Peter is a regular visitor to the palace, except during certain times of the month, obviously. The Queen finds him droll, and having an uncle who suffered from a curse that turned him into a frog during every solar eclipse, she is quite sympathetic to Peter's peculiar plight. The palace is of course infested with poltergeists. We still have found no further clues as to what Smike was up to.
Captain Virginia worries more than I, she has attempted several times to get back in touch with Lady Pendergrass, but the woman seems to be giving her the brush off. Mr. Poom eventually got too nervous and begged Virginia to desist. She now pesters me to ask the Queen about any connections she may know of with Lady Pendergrass or a mysterious organization that Captain Virginia I believe called LARVAE. But one does not want to bring up flies- in any of their gestational forms- during tea, and I don't want to become too personal with her Highness, so I have not yet found a tactful time to draw out such information conversationally.
Viriginia, I fear, is becoming a bit exasperated. Can't be helped at the moment I am afraid. When Charles finishes his lexicon, perhaps he will help me construct a nefarious and delicate linguistic trap, but until then I wish to maintain the Queen's trust. She is very lovely. And all of that business seems so long ago and far away on a cold dark sea. And here and now it is so cozy by this fire in this overstuffed chair, drinking this lovely tea, listening to this lovely soothing music, petting this lovely purring cat, doing this crossword puzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... 
