TEST DRAFT 3 With LLaregub footnotes The Boy Who Shot Flimzy Bubbletrumpett- macbook 2

Mr. Mangabey

or

The Boy Who Shot Flimzi Bubbletrumpet

Chapter One.

Actually this isn’t Chapter One at all but a sort of Introduction and everyone knows everyone

doesn’t read introductions. But now you’ve started you might as well go on.

What are you doing?

History homework.

Oh, history.

Why do you say it like that? And why are you pulling that funny face?

When I hear the word history I always think of Mr Mangabey. And the face was an expression

of revulsion and disgust.

Who is Mr thing? And what was the ‘spression of ‘vulsion and ‘gust for?

‘Vulsion and ‘gust indeed. I would tell you but it is a long story and you are doing your

history homework. What kind of history are you reading?

We are doing Queen Victoria.

Queen Victoria. Let me see. Huh, Queen Victoria, Queen, Elizabeth, King Edward; more King

Edwards than you’ll find in a sack of potatoes. Prime Ministers and Presidents. More Prime

Ministers and Presidents than you will find in an Acme Garden Composter. Or wherever ex-

Prime Ministers and deposed Presidents end up. But not a sentence, a line, a foot note or even

a single word about HER.

Hey! Don’t throw our school books around like that!

I was not throwing it. I was casting it aside with a gesture of ‘vulsion and ‘gust.

And who is her?

I’ve already said it is a long story. And it is not her, it is HER.

Tell us anyway. We like long stories.

You may be shocked and distressed I am not sure it is a story suitable for children.

Tell us!

No I do not want your mother to blame me for the shock and distress that often comes with….

THE TRUTH.

Tell us!

No, you have work to do.

Tell us!!

! 1

No, you will be shocked and distressed.

Tell us!!!

Oh, very well, but only if you are sure.

We are sure.

Are you sure you are sure?

Yes!

Are you absolutely sure that you are sure that you are sure?

Yes!!

Are absolutely certain that you are sure that you’re sure that…

Tell us!!!!!

That’s enough! I’ll tell you. Are you sitting comfortably?

Yes.

Really comfortable, not just adequately or pleasantly seated? It is a long story.

Just tell us!!!!!!

Right, but despite the strangeness and silliness this is a times a frightening and sad story. But

you insisted, so here it is.

It was a dark and stormy night……

I hear you cry cliché .

We didn’t say anything.

I know you didn’t say anything. I was using a rhetorical device. There will be a lot of

rhetorical and other devices in the story. So pay attention.

It was night and therefore dark. Wind and rain battered the windows of the house. So it was

stormy. It truly was a dark and stormy night. Unlike no other.

I was alone in the house with my sister Dystopia. Your Auntie Di.

No her name is not Diana. Her real name is Dystopia. But when her friends shortened it to Di

other people thought it was short for Diana. She preferred the name Diana. It made her life

easier. So she became Diana. Just as my name is Utopia shortened to You which people often

think is short for Ewan, and I let them.

As I was saying we were alone in the house waiting for the babysitter to arrive. How we hated

that word ‘babysitter’! We weren’t babies we felt quite grown up. Grown up enough to be

able to look after our selves. And in fact our parents, your grandparents, Feckless and

Graceless… 1

Yes, that is their names. Your grandparents. Their real names. Shortly before you were born

they changed their names to Fiona and Terry. I have never understood why. It seemed a

backward step. But maybe like Dystopia it made life simpler for them. It is disturbing for

children when their parents change their names. That is why most children prefer to call their

mum and dad Mum and Dad. In that order. It makes life much easier.

In fact our parents were probably looking for some kind of security guard rather than baby

sitter, but security guards are far more expensive.

But to go on with the story. I shall start at the beginning, go on to the end, and then stop. 2

It was a dark and stormy night and the two of us had been left alone in the house as the

babysitter – horrible word. I always think of a very fat man in a clown costume sitting on a

baby - had not arrived.

! 2

Feckless and Graceless had gone to a party. They went to parties three days a week, the

cinema, twice, the theatre once, and always dined out on a Sunday. So Dys and I spent a lot of

time alone in the house. Alone that is apart from the babysitters. I think our parents would

have been happy to leave completely on our own if it had not been for that time they came

back when we were cooking sausages on a camp fire we had made on the sitting room carpet.

The babysitters were always very tall and skinny young women with large round glasses and

ginger hair. It always puzzled us that our parents could find so many so many tall, skinny,

ginger girls with glasses, for we never had the same girl twice. But they did. Perhaps they

used some kind of agency. That night, perhaps the dark was darker than usual and the

storminess exceptionally stormy, the babysitter had not arrived when F and G had to leave.

They could not wait because, as everybody knows, if you arrive late at a party all the best

nibbles and snacks are gone and you are miserable for the rest of the evening because you

cannot help thinking that the snacks and nibbles were probably the very best snacks and

nibbles that had been made for any party… ever, and you are the only people in the room who

had not tasted them. So they had to go. They made us promise to sit quietly and read ‘a good

book’ until the babysitter arrived. Then they left. They had only been gone about three and a

half minutes when Dy said she fancied a sausage, so we started to hunt for some matches. But

the matches that were usually on the counter next to the gas cooker had gone. We realised that

our parents must have foreseen the possibility of their children being overcome by hunger and

having to cook their own food. We turned our drawers, emptied cupboards, emptied the fridge

– we found the sausages- but we could not find the matches or a lighter. Then Dys had a

Brilliant Idea. And I have to say it was one of her best. I would never have thought of it. First

we must build a camp fire in the sitting room, she said. We could use one of the chairs we had

broken in our search for matches to make the fire, and then fry the sausages in a frying pan

once the fire had died down a little. But how were we to light the fire? We made a small

pyramid of pieces of broken chair over a pile of screwed up newspaper, and pages torn, out of

books. The books were called Only a Factory Girl, Red Summer Rose 3 and the Bible.

We put four sausages into a frying pan and laid it down next to the fire. Dys looked at the tiny

pyramid and a smile of angelic pleasure spread slowly across her face.

Do you think we should have moved the carpet?

No, it is just perfect as it is. Just perfect. Now all we have to do is light it.

Then she told me her Brilliant Idea.

We stuff the toaster with paper. As much paper as we can stuff in. We then plug in the toaster

and switch it on. When the paper catches fire we pull out the plug and carry the blazing toaster

like a ceremonial torch from the kitchen into the front room, and use it to light our camp fire.

It was really and truly a Brilliant Idea.

But sadly we never got to carry it out.

We were in the kitchen tearing the pages out Sense and Sensability by Jane Austin 4 and

stuffing them into the toaster when the doorbell rang.

We answered the doorbell expecting to see another tall, skinny, ginger haired girl wearing big

round glasses.

But when we opened the door what we saw on the step stood was the extraordinary figure of

Mr Mangabey outlined by a flash of lightning.

! 3

To Begin at the Beginning or Chapter Two.

The real Chapter One in which we meet Mr Mangabey and Dystopia vanishes.

The day we met Mr Mangabey was the day our lives changed for ever.

Our parents had been forced to leave before the babysitter had arrived and my sister and I

were left alone to await her arrival. To pass the time we built a small pyramid out of wood in

the centre of the living room floor. After we had finished building the pyramid we sat and

gazed at it in silence, admiring our work. Time passed slowly until my sister, Dystopia,

announced that she was hungry. Our parents had left without feeding us, there was not enough

time cook and besides they had a very important party to attend and could not risk being late.

We had realised this and urged and implored them to leave as soon as possible, or asap in

brief.

They told us the babysitter would find us biscuits and milk, crackers and cheese, or if we were

very lucky the famous, and especially tasty, American cookies and milk. Though where these

were to be found was not clear.

This all took place in late February so it was already dark when our parents left us with a

hurried kiss and a cheery wave of goodbye. We pressed our faces to the glass of the living

room window and waved our goodbyes as the yellow lights of the car swept by the window

and the red tail lights faded into the distance. We remained at the window gazing at the rain

that fell heavily down making a million orange streetlight ripples in the steadily growing

puddled. Thunder rumbled in the distance and a flash of lightning lit up the houses across the

road. It was only many years later that I realised that this should have been the other way

around. We should have seen the lightening and then heard the thunder. But that evening it

was the thunder that came first. DA! 5We watched the rain for a few minutes, waiting for the

next thunderclap, and lightening flash getting closer and closer until we finally got bored and

Dys said, Hey You! Let’s build a pyramid.

And we did. We gathered materials from wherever we could find them and build a small, but

to our eyes perfect, wooden pyramid.

So after the hard work of pyramid building was finished, and still no babysitter had arrived, it

was not surprising we were starting to feel hungry. We had been working very hard.

Oh You, now I’m hungry, said Dys. I’m so hungry.

She looked at me with the look that said, I’m hungry so you must go and find me something

to eat. Something nice. I would do it myself but you are so much better at doing these things,

and besides if you do it will be a surprise. And you know how much I like surprises. Besides

if you don’t it’s just possible you might regret it.

I was always surprised by how many words Dys could put into a look and sometimes

wondered why she every bothered to talk when she could say so much more by simply giving

‘looks’.

I’ll go and see what I can find in the kitchen, I said.

! 4

I clambered over the debris of broken furniture, packets, cans and pans that had spilled out of

cupboards and now littered the floor. A large bag of flour had burst when it had fallen, and I

left a trail of snowy footprints as made my way to the fridge. I tossed aside mushrooms,

lettuce, yoghurt, avocadoes, broccoli, cheese, one meatball 6 and cartons of yogurt that split as

they hit the floor, jars of jam and chutney and other things I have now forgotten, until I found

the sausages, four of them: I picked up a frying pan that was lying on the floor near the fridge

and made my way back to the front room and placed the pan beside our wooden pyramid.

Ah, sausages! Thank you You! cried Dys beaming with delight.

At that very moment. In that instant. No sooner had she said the word sausages than there

was a loud knocking at the door. We looked at each other; babysitters usually rang the

doorbell, without speaking we knew we were both thinking that it might be better no to

answer the door. But the loud and urgent banging continued. Dys looked at me, nodded and

then headed out into the hallway. I followed. The banging paused for a moment and then

restarted, so loudly it shook the vase of tulips until they threatened to topple off the table

where the telephone was next, to the coatrack and umbrella stand. I pushed the tulips back to

safety and turned to see Dys opening the door.

There was a sudden flash of lightening.

And silhouetted on the doorstep stood something that looked like a two black bin bags, one

large one small, the larger bag heaved and rippled as though some creature, inside a small

bear, or ape, was trying to get out.

We both took a step backwards, shocked by what we saw and blinded by the sudden flash of

light.

Sorry I’m late, said the creature walking in to the hallway and taking off a heavy black coat

several sizes to large for it hung it on the coat rack. The coat we had mistaken for a large bag.

We blinked furiously and stared. It was no ape or bear, and certainly not a skinny young

woman with red hair and glasses. It was a man.

A very peculiar man.

He was the shape of an over filled sack and seemed about to burst out of the brown suit he

was wearing. He carried a similarly shaped black bag, tied and knotted at the top with a black

cord.

He had something like a crest of thick wiry reddish brown hair on his head and a thicket of

white side-whiskers sprouted from both cheeks. His skin was tanned and wrinkled like some

one who has spent his whole life in a very hot country. His eyes were like black glass set in

deep holes in a coconut shell head and they sparkled as he smiled broadly, and said again,

Sorry I’m late, as he made his way into the front room.

His smile was like a long line of dancing polar bears, each with another polar standing on its

shoulders. That is the effect was surprising, reassuring, slightly silly and you felt it was a

smile being given just for you, and you might never see anything like it again. In fact I have

never seen anything like it since.

He threw himself down into a chair and put the black bag on the floor beside him.

Then as he glanced down at our pyramid and the frying pan the polar bears danced again.

Sausages! How kind of you!

And he picked up the frying pan and ate the sausages, our sausages, in quick succession; that

is quickly, one after another. Uncooked.

Delicious! Well actually, and to tell the truth – and it is always best to tell the truth. Or rather

it us usually best to tell the truth – I think I prefer them cooked. But it was very kind of you.

Very kind indeed. Thank you.

! 5

We had not said a word since Dys opened the door; just stared in silence open mouthed and

wide eyed.

At last Dys replied,

Sorry we didn’t cook the sausages. If you had waited….

The man waved a hand. A gold ring glinted on one of his long yellow fingers.

Not at all! It doesn’t matter in the slightest. It’s the thought that counts. And it was a very kind

thought. The sausages were delicious. Well, not delicious, but it was deliciously nice of you to

have made them for me.

We couldn’t think of anything to say. Dys couldn’t even find a look that would do.

Well, don’t let’s sit in silence, the man said. What shall we talk about to pass the time? There’s

been a fine crop of rhubarb in Uganda this year. What do your think of Accrington’s chances

in the Cup Final? Is mauve really another kind of pink? Or pink a kind of mauve? I am not

actually sure what colour mauve is But wouldn’t it make a nice name? For a girl. So would

Magenta. Both nice names. Especially Magenta. But Indigo– he patted his black bag – That’s

a really beautiful name, Indigo. Sepia 7, that is a boy’s name. Don’t you think? Well, do you

have anything to say? Any questions?

Who are you? I finally managed to spit out the words.

A very good question. A very good question indeed. The question we all ask ourselves every

morning when we look in the mirror while we clean our teeth. And what does the mirror

reply?

Alas, we will never know because the person in the mirror has a mouthful of toothpaste and a

toothbrush in his mouth. So I’m sorry but I don’t know the answer to your question. But it

was a very good question.

No, I said, What I mean is, what are you called?

What am I called? I have been called many things. Most of them rather unpleasant. Some of

them downright rude. And I have no intention of telling you.

Your name. What is your name?

Ah, I see. You may call me Mr Mangabey. Naturally, I know your names. Dystopia and

Utopia Spindle. Dys and You for short. Is that right?

We nodded. And I noticed the black bag had started to wriggle.

Excuse me a moment before we continue our conversation, said Mr Mangabey taking off his

watch and placing it on the small coffee table beside him.

I have to watch my watch. Because everything should happen at the right time. It is so

annoying when things happen at the wrong time. You are waiting for the four thirty train to

Crewe and the eight fifteen to Aberdeen turns up. Or you have a birthday in July and someone

gives you a Christmas card with a fat robin on a snowy branch and woolly hat and gloves for

a present. And tonight it is especially important that the right things happen at the right time

and not the wrong things at the wrong time. And so often time slips away without us noticing.

Don’t you agree?

But we were not listening. . We hadn’t heard a word of what Mr Mangabey had said because

we were both staring at the black bag, that had fallen onto its side and had started to wriggle

its way across the floor.

What is in your bag? We chorused.

Oh, just my cat. Do you have a glass.

Isn’t it cruel to keep it like that? Please let it out, said Dys.

What! Let the cat out of the bag? Now? At completely the wrong time? That would be a

disaster. Besides the bag is a specially designed cat-carrying bag, with extra storage space. It

has a warm and comfortable velvet lining, a library and a device to deliver treats and milk at

! 6

regular intervals. The cat much prefers to be in the bag and can be rather irritable and short

tempered when it is released. Please don’t rush things. Can I have that glass?

Mr Mangebey leaned over and picked up the bag, and holding it in front of his face whispered

something we could not catch. We heard a whispered reply from the bag.

The cat says it is quite happy and does not want to come out of the bag. Yet.

There was a soft thud as Mr Mangabey’s watch slid off the table on to the floor. He quickly

put down the bag and grabbed the watch. Then sat back and smoothed his whiskers again.

That’s what happens when you don’t keep your eye on the time. Please can you get me the

glass.

Dys fetched a large wine glass from the cabinet near the window and handed to Mr Mangabey

who placed it upside down on the table and slid his watch beneath it.

Ah, he said, giving another huge and improbable smile and smoothed his white sidewhiskers.

Now what were we talking about? Was it names? Or railways? I always think the trouble with

railways is the rails. If you want to go from say A to B, or Hay to St. Bees, you don’t want to

always go exactly the same way. Exactly the same way, every time, never even a little to the

left or a bit to the right. You get on a train and find you have left your umbrella in the house

and it looks like rain, can you shout, ‘Oi! Please turn around and take me back to number

thirty two Windsor Gardens 8 where I have left my umbrella?’ Can you? I don’t think so. You

have to carry on where those rails will take you, never straying even a single millimetre to the

left or right. All you can do is sit and watch the rain streaming down the window of your

coach knowing that as soon as you step off the platform at the end of your journey you will

be soaked to the skin by a torrential downpour and probably contract pneumonia. All because

the train could not turn round and let you get your umbrella.

Listening to this talk of downpours I suddenly realised a curious thing. Despite the storm that

continued outside, rain still beating at the window, Mr Mangabey, his hair, his coat, his shoes,

everything, was completely dry. He did not even look damp. Perhaps he had an umbrella. He

was talking at great length about the importance of always carrying an umbrella. But we had

seen no signs of one.

We were suddenly startled by a a scraping sound and saw Mr Mangabey’s watch pushing

against the inside of the glass and dragging it towards the edge of the table.

It’s getting impatient. Mr Mangabey pushed the wine glass back to the centre of the table and

placed a book on top of it. (The book was Harry’s Daughter and the Shaver of Egrets

9. Dys’

favourite story about a Princess and a boy who made her a wonderful coat of white feathers.)

That should hold it for now, said Mr Mangabey. Yes I would.

We could still hear a faint chink and tap as the watch fidgeted under the glass.

What happened next was the most extraordinary thing so far.

Would you like a cup of tea, said Dys and without waiting for an answer she got up and left

the room.

I had often heard Dys say, I am not making anyone a cup of tea, or, Make it yourself, when

asked to make a cup of tea.

She even claimed that she could not make a cup of tea. Should you use leaf tea or tea bags? If

it was tea bags, how was she to know how many tea bags? Were you supposed to open the tea

bags?

If it was leaf tea should it be Darjeeling, Assam, English Breakfast, Lapsang Suchong? How

should she know which one out of the countless varieties of tea she should use?

Should she make the tea with hot or cold water? If it was hot water, how hot? Should you use

a cup or a teapot? If it was a teapot how could you tell the difference between a tea pot and a

coffee pot? Should you add milk? How much milk? What kind of milk? Skimmed? Un-

! 7

skimmed? Semi-skimmed? What about sugar? White sugar? Brown sugar? Cubes?

Granulated? Demerara, Muscavado, Caster?

People had long ago given up on asking Dys to make them tea. And she never, ever, in any

eventuality offered to make anyone cup of tea.

I sat in stunned amazement for a few moments until I became aware that Mr Mangabey was

asking me a question.

What kind of umbrella do you prefer?

I answered, black ones, because that was all I could think of.

Yes, I completely agree with you. A good sturdy black umbrella is suitable for rain, snow,

sleet and even intense sunshine, whereas the coloured or plastic umbrella is really only good

for a light summer shower. To change the subject. Have you ever wondered why there are so

many words that start with cat compared with those that start with dog?

There’s

Catachresis

Cataclysm

Catafalque

Catalepsy

Catch

Cataleptics

Catalogue

Cater

Catapult

Cataract

Catgut

Catarrh

Catastrophe

Cattle

Catchphrase

Catkin

Catsup

Catechism

Categorical

Caterpillar

Caterwaul

Catheter

Catholic

Mr Mangabey paused to take a breath, while I wished Dys would hurry up with the tea.

Catnap

Catchment

Catchword

Catcall

Catfish

Catty

Catchall

Catalpa

Catwalk

Catsuit

Cataplasm

Catatonia

! 8

Mr Mangabey continued with a seemingly endless list of cat words, until what seemed like

hours later he finally said,

And, of course the word Cat itself.

Dys had still not returned with the tea.

The black bag started to wriggle again.

And the tapping and scraping of the watch beneath the glass seemed to grow louder and more

urgent.

But words beginning with dog… There’s not so many. Well there’s

Dogma

Dogfish

Doggerel

Doge

Dogleg

Dogsbody

Dogwood…

and, um. I can’t really think of any more. Can you?

I must go and see what’s happened to Dys, I said

There was a loud crack as the watch flung itself against the side of glass with such force it

toppled over throwing the book to the floor. The watch slithered out from beneath the glass

and slid across the table. Mr Mangabey’s thin hand shot out and grabbed it before it could

reach the edge. He slipped the watch back on to his wrist. But not before I caught a glimpse of

it frantically waving its tiny hands.

The black bag writhed and twisted.

I must go and find Dys, I repeated.

It’s no good looking, said Mr Mangabey, She’s gone.

I jumped to my feet.

What do you mean she’s gone?

You won’t find her. She’s not here. They will have taken her by now.

Who has taken her? Where is she?

Without waiting for an answer I ran into the kitchen. It was empty. I raced upstairs. I looked in

her bedroom. It was empty. I looked in all the bedrooms. I opened the wardrobes. I banged on

the bathroom door, then flung it open. As I knew it would be the bathroom was empty s. I

went back and looked under every bed and behind every door. I looked in the cupboard under

the stairs half expecting to find Dys crouched inside. But she was not there. Dys was

nowhere in the house. I returned to the kitchen and noticed that the back door was slightly

open. I looked out into our back yard, straining my eyes to see through the darkness and the

rain. There was no sign of Dys.

I began to panic and I found myself gasping for breath, as though I had fallen into a deep well

and was breathing in lungfulls of black water.

I was shaking uncontrollably when I returned to the front room.

Sit down You, said Mr Mangabey gently, It’s time to let the cat out of the bag.

Mr Mangabey Explains Everything and Explains Nothing

or The Road Less Gravelled 10

! 9

To be lost is not a pleasant feeling, it is disturbing, disconcerting, rather upsetting and

frightening at first, but it soon becomes an adventure. If it doesn’t last too long.

But losing someone else, that is a terrible feeling, far worse than losing yourself.

The loss snips their shape out of the air, leaving an awful emptiness, a person shaped hole in

your world. But most of the time they have not gone far, often they are just around the corner,

hidden behind a tree, somewhere in the crowd chatting to a friend they bumped into.

Mr Mangabey stopped speaking. The black bag was bouncing up and down trying to get his

attention. I had not been listening, with shaking hands I picked up the telephone tried to call

our parents mobile. They had forgotten to take it and I heard their phone buzz and vibrate out

on the hall table

Oh dear, I’m sorry. I should not ramble on like that, continued Mr Mangabey picking up the

wriggling bag. Please remember ‘All shall be well, and all shall be well.’ ‘And all manner of

Thing shall be well.’ 11 too. I read that on a card somewhere. I forget where.

He loosened the strings opened the bag, and the instant he did so a black thing shot out. It

sped across the carpet, circled the table several times before heading for the window and

climbing the curtains. It all happened so fast that all I saw was a black blur. As it leaped from

the curtain rail to land on the lampshade I saw a long black tail streaming out behind it. The

lamp swung violently from side to side, and the Thing clung on for only a moment or two

before letting go and dropping down to land in… my lap.

It had the pointed ears and short jaws of a cat but had the long flexible arms and legs of a

monkey, as well as a very long furry and reprehensible tail. It looked like a cat, a lemur, a

monkey and some strange imaginary animal all mixed together. It gazed up at me with

extraordinary indigo eyes that had a startling ring of yellow surrounding the shiny jet beads of

the pupils.

It curled the tail around the arm of my chair and stretched out a tiny hand and stroked my

cheek. Then like a cat it reared up and rubbed its muzzle against my face. All the worry and

fretfulness I’d been feeling just faded away, like ice in the sun, like a cloud on a summer’s

day. I knew all would be well.

She seems to like you, said Mr Mangabey, That’s good sign. It would have made things

difficult if she had been the atrabilious 12 animal she usually is. Katapes are frustratingly fickle

and capricious.

Is that what she is a Katape? What is she called?

Yes, a katape, rhymes with karate. Or okapi. And her name is Indigo.

I’m right here. Why don’t you ask me? the creature whispered. It spoke with a soft hissing

whisper I could barely hear, though there was a distinct note of irritation that came through

quite clearly.

I’m sorry, I said, I didn’t know you could speak.

I don’t very often, replied Indigo, I’ll accept your apology this once as I expect you have little

experience of submundane 13 creatures.

With that she leapt on me, curled up on my lap and closed her eyes whistling softly to herself,

a hardly audible low whistle of content, as a cat might, purr, and as she did so a most beautiful

scent drifted up. It was the smell of jasmine and roses, it was the smell of a fresh sea breeze, a

pine forest, crushed mint and coffee. I can’t find words to describe it. It was the smell of

everything delicious and beautiful and the creature seemed to give it off as she whistled

quietly to herself.

! 10

Ah the fragrance of the katape. We are lucky this evening. Apart from losing your sister, of

course.

Now I must explain things. After all you deserve some kind of explanation. Well, it’s like

this….

Things are not always as you think you remember them. Just when you think you know

what’s going on along comes something that makes you realise that you really had no idea.

No idea at all. Think of it like this. If you lived in a time when everyone thought the world

was flat and then someone sailed right around it, you would have to believe the world was

round. Wouldn’t you? But in your mind you would have all those memories from when the

world was flat. Like Flatland. 14 But it wasn’t really flat. Or was it? Because it might have

been. For all you know it was flat until that ship sailed around it. It was only then it became

really round. At least to you. What is happening now is a bit like that.

Do you understand now?

I shook my head.

You’re right. That was a terrible explanation. Let me try again. You are lying in bed one

morning in that half awake and half asleep state that is so good for the facilitation of dreams.

A tree grows in your room. For the sake of this explanation let’s say a mulberry tree. The tree

grows, sprouts leaves, flowers, bears fruit. The fruit ripens and falls and your bedroom floor is

a carpet of beautiful wine red mulberries. Have you ever eaten mulberry pie? No, you should.

It is very high on my list of the ten most delicious pies. In fact, thinking about it, it is at the

top of my list of the ten most delicious pies. Above bilberry pie – Real wild bilberries that you

have picked yourself, high on the open moorland.. None of these fat tasteless blueberries you

see in supermarkets these days. –

But back to mulberries. Your bedroom floor, as I have already said, is carpeted with them. The

door opens and a dozen women and girls wearing brightly patterned head scarves and aprons

come in carrying buckets and bowls. They gather every single mulberry in their buckets and

bowls and then leave. The last to leave is a small girl about nine or ten years old – that is the

age you are in this story –and before she goes through the door she rushes over and places a

blue and white china bowl full of mulberries on your bedside table. Then she dashes away

after to catch up with the women. Next through the door come six men in high leather boots

wearing red check shirts. Some are wearing fur hats. Five are carrying saws and axes and one

is carrying a brush and pan. The men start chopping and sawing away at the mulberry tree.

Your room is a blizzard of sawdust.

The mulberry tree is cut down and sawn up into logs. The men with the saws and axes carry

away the logs leaving the man with the brush and pan to sweep up the sawdust and wood

chips. When he is finished the room is just as it was before there was a mulberry tree. The

man with the brush leaves but just, after he has gone he sticks his head around the door and

gives you a big exaggerated wink, then closes the door behind him. You wake up, yawn and

think, what an extraordinary dream, and an hour or so afterwards you have forgotten it.

Fifteen years later. You are sitting at a table at a small hotel somewhere in the South of

France. Let’s say Arles. Arles is a nice town. You are still You, but going under the rather dull

name of Ewan now. You are sitting at a table in a small hotel in Arles. You have just finished

dinner – a fairly ordinary steak and chips - and have ordered mulberry pie for pudding.

Indigo opened an eye and hissed, With cream.

You have ordered mulberry pie and cream for pudding. At the next table is an English family.

Mother, father, two children, boy and girl, age about ten, and an old white haired man. Their

grandfather. They have also ordered mulberry pie, and when it arrives the old man looks at it

and says.

Ah, mulberry pie. It always reminds me of… but you all know that old story.

We don’t! cry the children.

! 11

Well, the old man continues, you all know I used to be a woodsman. Once a long, long time

ago, when I was much younger, I was sent with a team of timber fellers to cut down a

mulberry tree that was growing in somebody’s bedroom. When we came into the room we

found there was a boy of about your age asleep in his bed. But we cut the tree down anyway,

sawed it up into logs and carried it away. My job was to sweep up the sawdust and wood

shavings and leave the room as clean as it was when we arrived. And that’s what I did, and the

boy in his bed slept on right through it all.

That sounds like a dream, says the little girl.

I used to think so too, said the old man, but now that I am much older I’m not so sure. You

had better eat your pie before it gets cold.

And then old man turns his head, looks straight at you and winks.

Twenty years later, continued Mr Mangabey, you are at home watching television. There is

nothing much on and you are hopping between channels. You pause at a programme about

agriculture in Eastern Europe. A group of women in brightly coloured aprons and head

scarves are gathering mulberries. A young fair-haired woman looks straight at you from out of

the television and stretches out her arms to offer you a blue and white bowl full of wine red

mulberries. There is a fizzle and a pop and the screen goes blank.

Sixty years later. You are an old, white haired man now. You have been called Ewan so long

that you have forgotten that you have ever been called You. You have been living on your own

since your wife died, you have been ill and depressed. In an attempt to cheer you up your

daughter has taken you on holiday with her husband and two children, boy and girl, aged

about ten. They take you to the South of France, driving down from Calais. To, let’s say Arles

again, to a small family hotel in Arles. It has been a long and tiring day. You have been sitting

in the back of the car with the two children who have been in turns quarrelsome and cheerful,

cheerful and quarrelsome, quarrelsome and cheerful, cheerful and quarrelsome. In the end you

did not know which you preferred, cheerful was noisy and restless, quarrelsome was just

exasperating. You arrive at your hotel in the early evening and skip dinner to go straight up to

your room. You drag your aching body up the stairs; you are so tired you can barely crawl

into bed, and when you do you fall straight to sleep.

You are woken by sun streaming into your room from a clear blue Mediterranean sky. You

wake feeling confused, disorientated and aching with tiredness. The clock on the bedroom

wall says five minutes past midnight. You look at your watch and that too says five minutes

past midnight. Yet your room is flooded with morning light. Then you notice that there is a

blue and white bowl full of mulberries on the bedside table.

And that there is sawdust in your hair.

Mr Mangabey looked at me.

So now you understand?

No. I shook my head.

He sighed. Well, I’ll just have to put it like this. Things are a lot more complicated and

confused than we can ever imagine. Now let’s get on with finding your sister. Have you ever

wanted to be an assassin? No, that’s a pity, but never mind. I’m sure you will do your best.

Just think of it as being some kind of computer game. All you have to do is kill the Demon

Empress and everything will be as it should be. How can I kill a Demon Empress? Isn’t that

what you’re thinking.

Mr. Mangabey opened his bag and took out an old and rather rusty looking revolver.

I was horrified. I can’t kill anyone! I protested.

! 12

Not even to save your sister? When it comes to protecting the ones we love we often find we

are able to do things that we never imagined we had the strength or ability to do. That is why

it must be you. No one else will do. Killing someone, killing anything, even a dream, is a

cruel and terrible thing. That much is true. But sometimes we find ourselves in places when

we do the worst of things with the best intentions, and not to do the worst of things at he right

time is far worse than doing the right thing at the wrong time. For example…

Mr Mangabey drew a deep breath and was about to launch in to some long and complicated

explanation I would never be able to follow, so I cut in quickly.

I can’t, and I won’t!

Mr Mangabey fell silent and looked at me while he smoothed his long white side-whiskers.

Indigo whistled softly and the scent of cinnamon, cloves and green tea filled my nostrils and

despite thinking of the dreadful thing I was being asked to do, and the vanishing of Dys I felt

as if a soft warm wind of peace and happiness had blown into the room with all the scents of

Summer and the South.

You do want to find your sister?

I nodded.

Well, perhaps it will not come to assassination. Perhaps you will find another way. though I’m

surprised you don’t want to be an assassin. Boys usually like books, and films and games that

are full of adventures about war, killing and assassination … and guns. Didn’t you ever have a

toy gun? Or perhaps a bow and arrow. Ninjas seem to be especially popular these days, and

they’re assassins. But never mind we will just have see how things work out. Indigo will go

with you and be your guide. You will go, I know that much, because you really want to help

your sister. You had better take the gun though, and should you need it all you have to do is

just point and click. Or rather fire. Now you had better be off.

He put the gun back in the bag and stood up and handed it to me. I stood up too and took the

bag, I felt as though I was half asleep, I could not think clearly any more, my thoughts seemed

thick and sticky as honey

Indigo opened her eyes and jumped off my lap. Mr Mangabey’s explanation had just left me

confused and speechless, and I felt somehow in thrall to the strange katape, Indigo.

I allowed Mr Mangabey to lead me to the back door of the house, the door through which Dys

must have vanished some time earlier. Indigo had climbed up my leg and sat on my shoulder,

her long tail curled around my neck. Mr Mangabey shook my hand then pushed me through

the open door.

Goodbye and good luck, he called.

I found myself standing in a narrow country lane although I was sure that at the back of our

house there had been a garden leading on to the park. But now there was a road with high

green hedges on either side.

We turn right and climb the hill, hissed Indigo. We followed the road that climbed steeply and

wound its way upwards. Apart from the small brown birds that fluttered and chirruped in the

hedgerows were alone on the road that as it climbed the hill got narrower and the hedges

lower and replaced by overhanging trees. Finally, when we reached the crest of the hill the

road had petered away and become no more than a gravelled track through the woods. We

came to a place where the track divided into two paths. The path to the right looked cared for

and well trodden, whereas the path to the left was narrow, neglected and overgrown and led

off into the shadow. I looked looked down it as far as I could to where it bent in the

undergrowth and vanished. 15

We go left, advised Indigo.

! 13

And so we entered the dark woods.

Chapter 3.

TRUDI.

For more than a century Earth had been flattened by the roller of wars, wars, wars

16. Then

something extraordinary happened. A shoemaker called Inknavar Marz in the village of

Vorogani, in the Askeran Rayon of the Autonomous Oblast of Nagorno-Karabakh

17

(It was

actually the ex-Askeran Rayon of the Autonomous Oblast of Nagorno-Karabakh but many

people still had a fondness for the grandiosity of the old name) came back from a visit to an

elderly aunt only to find his shoe shop completely destroyed by a rocket that had been meant

for the militia headquarters in the next village.

He was not shocked. He was not stunned. He was not amazed, astounded, or even surprised.

This had happened to him three times before. He felt slightly sick, very tired and very sad. He

sat down amid the rubble and wreckage that had once been his shop and wept. He wept not

just for his beautiful shoe shop but for everyone who has had something destroyed by war,

homes, farms, schools, hospitals and lives. He wept for widows and orphans, for husbands

who had lost wives, for lovers who had lost their beloved, for those who had lost friends or

relatives, for children who had lost their pets and farmers their herds and flocks. For everyone

who suddenly found a huge dark hole had been torn out of the fabric of their lives. The

villagers watched while Inknavar Marz wept and awkwardly tried to help by gathering up the

scattered remnants of shoes and putting them into a sack; a single black stiletto heel, one pink

slipper with a singed white pompom, a pair of scorched and melted trainers with laces tied

together, a single riding boot in polished brown leather that had survived in perfect condition,

one blue leather court shoe that had been part of a pair lovingly made by Inknavar Marz

himself for a young woman who had wanted them to wear at her brother’s wedding. All these

went into the sack; all useless, not a single wearable pair of shoes could be found, but the

villagers went on filling the sack because they could not think of anything else to do. And

Inknavar Marz sat and wept because he could not think of anything else to do. But somewhere

deep inside him a spark of anger glowed, and as his tears gradually subsided, and he had wept

until he could weep no more, the spark glowed ever more bright and burst into a flame. Then

as Inknavar Marz sniffed and wiped his damp eyes with a dirty handkerchief the flame

became a fire, and the fire became a volcano or anger and rage against those who had caused

this thing to happen. He leapt to his feet and shook his fist at the sky, from where this

destruction had come, and shouted, ‘I Inknavar Marz have had enough! The village of

Voragani has had enough! Nagorno-Karabakh has had enough! The whole world has had

enough!

The villagers dropped the sack of burned shoes and stared at Inknavar Marz who looked back

at them and said, ‘I am going to do something to stop this!’

And that is where it started. It began with a message on internet from a tiny village in

Nagorno-Karabakh and it spread throughout the world. What Inknavar Marz wanted was

! 14

simple, he wanted an end to war, for the world to be one nation, with one army, one

government and one President, for everyone on Earth. People stopped voting, they came out

onto the streets, at first in the thousands but with in days there were millions marching

towards parliament buildings across the world, and within a month the millions became

billions. The island state of Pulau Selatan was the first country to depose their President

Colonel Kepala Besar ( The words ‘kepala besar’ in the language of Pulau Selatan means

‘great wisdom.’; unfortunately in neighbouring Indonesia it translates as ‘big head’. To the

delight of millions of Indonesians.’ disband their army and replace the government with a

provisional committee until World Government was achieved.

Everyone who was not to ill to walk, or who was locked away in a prison, or whose job was

too important for them to leave, joined the marches. When soldiers put down their arms and

joined the marchers the politicians agreed they had no alternative but to create the first World

Government.

The Great Central Asian Republic was next. People surrounded the Royal Palace of the

dictator President Ivan Morcač (Known to the world’s press as Ivan the dreadful), and when

the soldiers, disobeying the orders of their officers, joined the demonstrators, Ivan the

Dreadful fled to America.

Finland was the first European country to join the movement, followed almost immediately by

Sweden, which could not bear another Scandinavian country to seem more progressive and

liberal than itself. Naturally Norway and Denmark followed. Then Holland, and to everyone’s

surprise Germany and France made a joint announcement that they were both prepared to give

up sovereignty to become part of a World Government, if that was the will of the people. The

rest of Europe took their lead, except for The United Kingdom. In the UK a new political

party, The United Kingdom Against the World, or UKAW, came into being and was gaining

support, but then the news came of the deaths of more than fifty British soldiers in a war no

one knew anything about, in a country no one had ever heard of. People who previously had

been set against the idea of giving up any power at all joined the movement and came out onto

the streets in the greatest demonstration the country had ever seen bringing London to a

standstill, and then the collapse of the Government. Namibia was the first African country, and

from there government after government fell across the Continent. In South America Cuba

was the first to go, and then on until only the USA in the north and China and a few others,

steadfastly refused to join the movement for World Government. Without the two greatest

powers on Earth it looked as if the idea of one world/one nation was doomed to fail. And it

might have done if it were not for a teenage hacker working in his bedroom in Denver,

Colorado. He got access too and released to the world, the private bank accounts of the

Chinese Premier and leading politicians, and most interesting video of the US President and a

young lady dressed as the Statue of Liberty. It was enough to bring the people out onto the

streets again in both countries and in far greater numbers. Only the three tiny islands of

Mayoria Borracho in the North Atlantic still refused to join. The President, General Astorio

Astuto, offered every citizen of the country one million US dollars if they continued with the

old system.

One million dollars! Most people would rather a million dollars now than the chance of a

World Government that very probably would not work anyway. How did President General

Arturio Astuto manage to give everyone on the islands a million dollars each? Well, there

were not a great many people living in Mayoria Borracho, and because it was the only country

refusing to be a part of World Governments ex-Presidents, Prime Ministers, Kings, Queens,

dictators and despots poured into the country bringing trillions, zillions, of dollars in cash,

gold bars, jewelry, art works, and other rare and precious things. All this wealth had to be

deposited in The National Bank of Mayoria Borracho, because this happened to be the only

! 15

bank in Mayoria Borracho; when this happened the one million dollar hand out was merely

pocket money.

Who owned the bank? It was NOT President General Arturio Astuto, as he frequently

explained. It was NOT the wife of President General Arturio Astuto. It was none of the

children of President General Arturio Astuto. In fact it was no near relative of President

General Arturio Astuto at all, but only a distant second cousin of his wife’s, who had

renounced the world and disappeared to live as a hermit in the grounds of a remote monastery

somewhere in the Himalayas. The bank was only held in trust by President General Arturio

Astuto, until the return, or death of this mysterious second cousin.

There were those on the islands who whispered that the second cousin had not disappeared to

the Himalayas but to a deep ocean trench off the islands, helped down by some heavy iron

chains. But they stopped their whispers when the million dollars duly appeared in their

accounts.

Mayoria Borracho was just one tiny and insignificant country among the many on Earth, so

there was nothing to stop the inauguration of the first World Government.

It began with a meeting of the United Nations in New York, where delegates – with the

exception of Mayoria Borracho – decided unanimously to go ahead with the election of a

World President, and began a search for possible candidates.

The first person to put himself forward was President General Arturio Astuto. There was some

argument as to whether this should be allowed, as Mayoria Borracho was supposed to have

opted out and the President General only wished to be part of The World Government if he

was the President. But the idea was so new that no rules against this could be found, so

President General Arturio Astuto was accepted as a candidate. The next up was James

McQuarry the unbelievably handsome and popular American billionaire philanthropist actor

and rock star. The youngest multi-billionaire in American history.

Ivan Morcač quickly put himself forward, and then Colonel Kepala Besar; who claimed to

speak for the nations of both East and West. Then came a rush as several hundreds of

candidates registered. Strangely, most of them gave their country of residence as Mayoria

Borracho.

Less than a week after the decision to elect a World President had taken place the people of

the world, from the remote dusty villages of the Kalahari Desert and the high Andes to the

streaming cities of New York and Bejing, people awoke to see the face of President General

Arturio Astuto beaming at them from hoardings, their televisions, their phones, their

computers and on the leaflets that had been pushed through their doors. The President General

looked his best in a sky blue uniform dripping with gold braid and medals. No, ‘dripping’

does not do. It was a cascade, a waterfall; he was positively drowning in gold braid and

medals. And you could have used his smile to find your way home on a dark night.

But despite his smile the President General could not compete with the charm and good looks

of James McQuarry. It was said that when he gave the first TV broadcast a million young girls

fainted.

Then for the second time Inknavar Marz said, No!

He sent out a message that said, we do not want elections, elections got us into all the trouble

in the first place. We no not want the wealthiest and most powerful people in the world buying

their way to president with adverts, bribes and subtle lies. We do not want to vote. We want

TRUDI to chose our president.

And so it happened.

TRUDI (Truly Deep Intelligence.) the most advanced computer in the world, housed deep in

a basement laboratory, Basement G, in The Princeton Institute for Advanced Study, and was

consulted by scientists, politicians and artists world wide who needed to plan a space project,

! 16

the transport system for a great city, a very complex piece of music, to predict next seasons

fashions, to coordinate search and rescue missions for natural disasters, for controlling

epidemics and planning health care, for directing a nation’s economy; TRUDI did all this and

much more. Everyday thousands of questions arrived and everyday thousands of replies were

sent back.

When TRUDI had first been built there had been a lot of interest and publicity; the team of

scientists who built it each got Nobel Prizes; it was the first time so many prizes had ever been

given to one lab. But after the fuss and publicity had died down there was very little for the

scientists to do, they had built TRUDI to be self sufficient and self maintaining. The team split

up and the scientists drifted off to other jobs and Basement G was forgotten. Messages

flooded in for TRUDI and replies were sent back but few people ever wondered where exactly

TRUDI was. All the scientists left, except one who needed to be there as a kind of custodian.

in case of any unforeseen emergency that only a human being could deal with. It is not quite

true that all the team who worked on TRUDI got Nobel Prizes, there was one scientist who

did not. Embarrassingly, although everyone agreed he was one of the cleverest people on the

team he had only every published one rather uninteresting paper, and so never became a

professor or held any position of importance. He was obsessively secretive, shy and

unsociable; he hated any kind of publicity or promotion, but was passionately attached to

TRUDI, which he always referred to as ‘she’ and spoke as if she were a more real person than

any of the team he worked with.

As it would have been extremely difficult for him to find another job he seemed the ideal

person to become The Custodian, and remain alone in Basement with TRUDI.

When a meeting was held to decide on all the characteristics that were needed for a President

of the World. Honesty, kindness, selflessness, no criminal record or past history of bad deeds,

no fortune hidden away in obscure bank accounts – and definitely no involvement in

businesses supposedly owned by distant relatives. - a sense of humour, imagination,

intelligence, it seemed almost impossible that there could be anyone alive who could be

possessed of all of them in the one body. But all these qualities and many more were given to

TRUDI, and work began on building the Presidential Palace; it was to be called The Palace of

the Golden Moon and was to be built on a hill in Nagorno-Karabakh where it all started, and

where, on a clear night, a huge golden moon rose from behind distant Mount Ararat. The

architect chosen to build the palace was from Malaysia and was named Ahmad Shannon

18,

and he based his design upon fairytale palaces in Malayan and European literature. There

were towers, and turrets and domes and minarets, ballrooms, grand sweeping staircases and

secret spiral stairs, reception halls, countless offices, vast kitchens, huge dining rooms that

could hold a banquet for two hundred people and those for a small dinner with up six friends,

there were numerous chambers and anti-chambers, cool vaulted cellars, shady courtyards,

pleasure gardens with bowers of marble lattice work, and pergolas and jade pagodas, pools

full of golden and yellow fish, fountains, cascades and waterfalls. Formal gardens where

peacocks strutted, lawns cut by gravel paths, paved walkways flanked by fragrant shady trees,

flowers and herb gardens brimming over with a thousand colours and fragrant scents. The

rooms were papered with gold and silver leaf, the roofs gleamed of copper, the doors and

window frames were of lapis lazuli encrusted with gems. It was everything you could possibly

imagine a palace to be, and much more that was beyond your imagination.

And while all this was being built TRUDI kept thinking.

! 17

The palace was complete before TRUDI announced that after carefully searching all the data

that was available on all people currently living, the future president had been found. Some

weeks earlier it had been decided to move TRUDI, along with The Custodian – who

surprisingly raised no objection - from her basement to a specially designed computer room in

The Palace of the Golden Moon. It was there that the announcement was made.

An elite group of six messengers was picked from among the troops currently serving the

United Nations and sent to the palace where they were left alone with TRUDI in the computer

room. Only the six were told by TRUDI the name and whereabouts of the chosen one. Until

the formal inauguration it was to be a closely guarded secret.

Then at last The Six set of to find him…or her.

Chapter 4

Few are the birds that call, Shrill-voiced and seldom seen. Where silence masters all. 19

The path into the wood soon petered out and we found our way blocked by tangled brambles

and waist high clumps of nettles. I stopped, seeing no way through the barrier but Indigo

hissed into my ear, Go on! Push your way through. It gets clearer under the trees.’ So I forced

my way through the briars holding the heavy black bag above my head to prevent it catching

on the hooked thorns. I strode purposefully through the nettles trying to ignore the stinging I

felt on my arms and legs. Indigo was right, the overgrown tangle grew just at the edge of the

forest and as we came through under the spread of the dark spruce and pine the briars faded

away into the shade and soon we stood on open ground where only a few thin anemones 20

flecked the carpet of pine needles with green and white, though the forest floor was more like

the ragged dusty brown underlay left in an abandoned house than carpet. This forest had once

been a plantation, the trees planted in even rows, but after long years of neglect new saplings

had grown up between the rows and high winds had brought down some of the tallest trees

whose roots could not keep a grip in the thin rocky soil. They lay stretched out on the ground

tapering to a disc of twined and twisted roots, some newly fallen and still with the brown

scales of bark and green needles of a living tree, others whose trunks had become so rotted

that all that was left was no more than a narrow bank of moss. Some fallen trees had never

reached the ground, they slanted upwards, as though frozen in mid fall, their weight carried by

thin almost invisible branches caught and held by neighbouring trees,

The path that would ahead could be barely seen, just a scrape on the surface of the pine

needles that could have been scuffed by deer, rooting badgers or other forest animals, but it

was the only possible path so I went ahead twisting my way through the trees. I set off at

almost a run; it was a way of escaping the scratch and sting of the briars and nettles I still felt.

The faster I walked the less aware I was of the hot needling pain in my arms and legs as the

more I had to concentrate on finding the barely visible path, avoiding twisted roots that might

trip me up and scrambling over, or finding my way around fallen trees that lay across the path

and constantly looking out for low branches that threatened to whip across my face. As I

broke into a jog I felt Indigo’s claw like hands grip my shoulder and her reprehensible tail

tighten round my neck.

! 18

After a while as the pain of my scratches and stings passed I slowed down and I began to

notice that at times, beneath the debris of pine needles that covered the trail I could often feel

the hardness of stone beneath my feet, and saw rows of mossy rocks that lay parallel to the

trail; I realised I was following what had once been a road that had long fallen into disuse. All

the while Indigo perched silently on my shoulder her tail curled around my neck, so light at

times I could forget that she was there, several times I tried speaking to her, asking where she

was taking me and what I was supposed to do, but she simply gave a soft irritated hiss and

said nothing. It was clear that she only spoke when she wanted to and had no intention of

answering any questions of mine.

The wood was silent, dark and deep. I caught the movement of some small birds as they

fluttered from branch to branch high above, but they were to high in the trees for me to hear

any calls they made. A heavy silence lay on the forest like drifted snow. Even the sound of my

footfall was muffled by the pine needles beneath my feet. If I trod up on the smallest twig it

snapped like a fire-cracker breaking the quiet that surrounded me. I walked on and on and the

path hardly varied, and there seemed no end to the woods, though I knew it was not possible I

could not help the feeling that I was going round in circles; that this was the same fallen tree

I’d climbed over an hour before; that these were the same exposed stones that had showed me

the track was once a road. To avoid this feeling I began to imagine what this way through the

woods would have been like when it was a road busy with horse drawn wagons pulling

timber, carts loaded with vegetables being taken to sell at the next market town; herds of

cattle, geese and pigs, gypsies, journeymen and tinkers all carrying their wares on their back.

Then the forest would have rung with noise. The noise of animals, shouts and laughter,

whistles and song and horses’ hooves. The thud of hooves. I could hear them faintly,

somewhere far behind me, growing louder and louder and more distinct until it seemed that

the rider was right behind me, and I moved quickly to the side, tripping over a tree root as I

did so. As I stumbled the sound of hooves filled my head, my mind filled to overflowing with

that muffled thud, and the touch of pine needles that brushed my face was the cool sweep of

the rider’s silk skirt. 21And the forest was as dark and empty as it had always been. I stopped

thinking of the past and the road that never was and instead a song came into my mind –

But I would walk five hundred miles

And I would walk five hundred more

Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles

That was all I could remember. I was not even sure of the tune, but the words repeated, over

and over and over in my head, as I walked along.

It was the heaviness of the bag I carried that I found difficult, it seemed to get heavier over

time and as the path began to wind upwards, and the once orderly pines gave way to an

unplanned forest of birch and larch trees, and one arm began to ache with the weight of it, so I

swapped over to the other. If I tried to put the bag down for a moment or two, or paused to

rest and catch my breath Indigo stirred on my shoulder and hissed. So I carried on until the

weight of the bag and the pain in my arms was too much and when I came upon a newly

fallen tree blocking our way I sat down on it and dropped the bag on track beside me. A felt

Indigo’s tail tighten gently around my neck, a mother might tighten a child’s scarf, then she

hissed and jumped lightly down from my shoulder and looked up at me with wide indigo

eyes.

Open the bag, she said.

I took up the bag, loosened the drawstrings and felt inside. I could feel the cold metal and

sharp edges of the revolver, but there were other things too. I pulled out a bottle filled with a

! 19

clear liquid like water. I unscrewed the cap and sniffed, it smelled of nothing, I took a sip. It

was water, and as I rolled it around my mouth and swallowed I realised how hungry and

thirsty I was, and how long we had been walking through the forest. I took another deep gulp

and had almost finished the bottle before I remembered to offer any to Indigo, but she just

shook her head, so I lifted the bottle to the mouth and drained what water remained. I put my

hand back into the bag and took out something wrapped in silver foil. It was a slice of pie

filled with sweet wine red berries. As soon as I bit into it I knew it was mulberry pie though I

had never tasted one before. After I finished eating I slid down to the ground and rested my

back against the fallen tree. Indigo was investigating a wood pile, casually picking up the half

rotten logs, examining them and then casting them aside. What she was looking for I did not

know.

I had no idea how long I had been walking but I was tired, sore and scratched, my face, sticky

with sweat, itched with dust and grime shaken from the branches I’d pushed aside. I wiped my

face with the back of my hand and closed my eyes. I was not conscious of falling asleep, but I

must have done and the light was starting to fade when I awoke. I did not wake immediately

but instead drifted a while in that half way state between dreams and reality. I thought of Dys

for the fist time since I had entered the wood and was filled with a lonely emptiness. The

scratches and stings I’d received earlier that day had now faded into a tender itch, but my feet

were hot swollen and sore inside my boots. I was sure I had left the house in my ordinary

shoes but now somehow I was wearing leather walking-boots. I heard a faint breeze stirring

the leaves of the trees, a rising wind that shook the tree tops and rattled dry branches. Indigo

tugged at my sleeve and I woke cold, shivering and confused.. But the dream was not over. As

the breeze grew into a wind that gripped and shook the trees, sending leaves and twigs

swirling around us, there came with it the most terrible sound.

A dreadful lonely cry, soft and piercing, like a human voice lost and despairing, yet empty of

all humanity. Calling for help when there was no hope that help would come. And somewhere

inside, like a stream within the sound of despair, was another sound, a sound that was

something horrible, a thing of anger and hate. Something that would rip and tear and destroy

whatever offered the help that it was crying for. I shuddered and as I went to pull myself up on

my feet again a black shadow swept over the tree-tops enfolding us for a second in its

darkness. 22 Then there was silence, the wind dropped, the leaves drifted down to twist and

skitter lightly along the forest floor. Indigo leapt back up onto my shoulder.

What was that? I whispered, almost as if I was afraid to ask the question out loud.

Indigo gently curled her tail softly around my neck and murmured,

The world's more full of weeping than you can understand. 23

Come on, it’s getting dark we must hurry.

I picked up a stick and tied the strings of the bag to one end, then with Indigo on one shoulder

and the stick over the other I set off. Soon path got steeper and the trees got smaller and fewer

with clumps of juniper and whinberry growing between them. Looking up I could see the path

wound on to a dark notch in a rocky ridge just above the tree line. The sky above the ridge

was a deeper blue and clouds tinged with pink reminded me that if I did not hurry it would

soon be dark. What I was hurrying towards I could not tell, but assumed Indigo was leading

me towards some kind of shelter.

By the time we entered the notch the clouds had turned to crimson and the track was deep in

shadow. After we crossed over the ridge we found the path led to a flight of steps that led

steeply down through a cleft of rock into blackness. As we carefully made our way down

among dark shadows, in the distance I could hear the steady booming thunder of a waterfall,

and it seemed to me at that time strangely real and reassuring. In the distance, somewhere

below us, we saw a yellow light appear. When reached the bottom of the steps the path turned

and led us along the side of the winding ridge. The sun had now set and although a few rags

! 20

of faded rose red clouds remained the sky was deepening from purple to black and we could

see a bright, and ever growing, sprinkle of stars. We could barely see the track now, but it was

now wider and easier going than it had been earlier, and I could hurry on without risk of

falling. The track first crossed a shallow stream then turned sharply to follow the stream down

towards the light. I splashed through the water and followed the path that alongside the

stream. Soon I could make out the dark form of a building where a light burned in an upstairs

window and hear the sound of shouts and laughter and the thrumming of a guitar.

I entered the yard of an inn, a group of men were sitting around an open fire, one of them

playing a guitar while the others drank from a leather bottle and passed it around. The men

looked up as I passed by but just nodded their greetings and went back to their drinking and

their music. A girl holding a lantern on the veranda above us shouted down.

We’re full up! But there’s room above the stable and you’ll be comfortable enough there.

With that she twirled around and danced away to the music of the guitar vanishing into the

shadows of the vine-covered veranda. 24

She appeared in the yard a moment or two later and led me into a low stone building where

several mules stood shuffling and puffing in their stalls, up a short wooden ladder to a hay

loft, where she set her lantern down, took a candle from her pocket, lit it from the lantern and

dripping a few drops of wax stood it on a rough wooden table.

Then she began tugging at a pile of hay and waved at me to come and help.

Here you finish this and I’ll get you something to eat.

Indigo leapt from my shoulder and curled up under the table. I pulled more hay from the pile

and spread it out on the floor. I found a few old sacks and laying them on top of the hay made

my bed for the night. The girl returned with a bottle, a hunk of bread and some cheese.

Well now, that looks very snug and cosy, she laughed.

I ate the bread and cheese by candlelight. I offered some to Indigo who took a small piece of

bread and chewed politely showing no signs of hunger as if she had just taken the food to

keep me company during my meal. The bottle was filled with a thick sweet wine that tasted of

tar. I managed a couple of mouthfuls then blew out the candle and lay back on the straw. The

touch of fur against my cheek told me that Indigo had joined me. Out side the twanging of the

guitar stopped and I could hear the voices of the muleteers talking about somewhere called the

Palace of the Golden Moon.

And there are rooms with walls made of nothing but gold and silver, said one voice.

And I’ve seen pictures of amazing marble staircases inlaid with rubies, emeralds and other

precious stones, said another.

I have heard that there are huge caves of ice beneath the palace and a river flowing through

that vanishes into a great chasm in the cave floor 25, said a third.

And the palace will be open to anyone. Even you and me, said the first voice.

That may be so, a fourth voice cut in, but not without some kind of appointment to see the

President. And there will be some waiting list! They should have spent the money on

something useful.

But the point is that we can go there if we really want to, replied the first voice. Anyone can. It

is our palace too. Not just a presidential palace, it’s not about the cost. It’s symbol, a kind of

celebration. A celebration that the world has finally come to its senses.

Hey less talking! Here’s more wine, and let’s have some music. I want to dance! I heard a

girl’s voice cry as I drifted off to sleep.

I awoke the next morning when sun slanted through a small square window and filled the loft

with light. I could hear the voices of the departing muleteers as they shouted their goodbyes. I

! 21

yawned and scratched. The hay had been comfortable and warm and I could not have asked

for a better bed, except for the fleas that had found me warm and comfortable too, as well as

giving them their evening meal.

I stood up, brushed the hay from my clothes and hair, picked up my stick with the bag still

tied to it and climbed down the latter. Indigo bounded down after me. In the yard the girl was

throwing handfuls of grain to the clutter of chickens that surrounded her. I hesitated, and then

walked towards her to ask what I owed for the food and shelter; I had no idea how I was going

to pay, but perhaps I could repay the hospitality by doing some small chores around the inn.

The girl must have guessed my intention because as she saw me move towards her she simply

smiled, shook her thatch of black hair and pointed the way out of the yard. I turned at the

entrance to the yard to wave a last goodbye but the girl was gone and the yard was empty. The

path continued to follow the stream that led down the slope past the inn. I could hear the

distant waterfall I had heard the night before and high above me on the grey cliffs of the ridge

could see a thin white ribbon of water.

The air was cool, clear and bright and as the sun had been up for only a few hours it held the

promise of a long hot day ahead. Indigo who had been loitering behind caught up with me and

clambered on to my shoulder. The country around me was open heather moorland with only a

few scattered birch trees and junipers, flattened and sculpted by the wind. Below me I could

see low hills covered with woods, beyond the hills the silver glint of a lake and then green

grassland stretching off to the horizon. I could see no signs of villages or houses except for a

thin plume of smoke that climbed like a silken cord up into still air. High above two birds that

may have been buzzards or eagles circled lazily around. It was only when I was so far away

that the grey stone walls of the inn could be hardly be picked out from the boulders that

littered the hillside that I realised that no one had shown any surprise or interest in Indigo. It

was almost as if she had been invisible to them.

Chapter 4

The Deceptive Elephant and the Grey Gypsy

Though at first I shivered in the cold mountain air the sun soon rose higher in the sky and I

slowed my pace as it became too warm to hurry. On such a well defined path I could walk

without did not having to concentrate on each step for risk of falling, so my mind turned to the

events of the past two days and I was filled with confusion, doubt and not a little fear. I tried

to question Indigo.

Hey Indigo, where are we going?

She just shifted on my shoulder and hissed, You’ll know when we get there.

I don’t understand what’s going on. I don’t know where I am, or how I got here… and I’m

scared.

I thought Mr Mangabey had already explained all that to you.

It didn’t explain a thing. I had no idea what he was talking about.

Perhaps if you had tried a little to understand.

I felt Indigo’s claws dig into my shoulder and there was an unconcealed note of irritation in

her hissed reply.

I did try. I really did. But nothing makes sense. Can’t you explain it to me?

No. Just keep walking.

Indigo, I’m scared. I’m frightened about what happened to Dys and what might happen to me.

! 22

Indigo heard the fear in my voice and I felt her grip loosen and I suddenly I could smell

heather, honey, dark muddy chocolate smell of peat bogs. All the smells and scents of the

moorlands. My fear ebbed away like a slow receding wave until my mind was empty of

worries and doubts and all my attention was on the way ahead, Indigo rubbed her head against

my cheek.

Just keep walking. Keep walking.

Some lines of a long forgotten song rose to fill my empty head. Some nonsense in French.

Un éléphant, ça trompe, ça trompe,

Un éléphant, ça trompe énormément.

Deux éléphants, ça trompe, ça trompe,

Deux éléphants, ça trompe énormément. 26

I had no idea where it came from, or what it meant, I know only one or two words of French,

but obviously it was something about elephants, and it had a heavy elephant like tramp, tramp,

tramp rhythm that made it a good walking song. Though I didn’t attempt to sing out loud, I

just repeated the lines in my head, adding elephants and when I stumbled or lost count going

back to one again and the chorus.

Oléo oh oh, léo léo oh oh,

Oléo oh oh, léo léo oh oh


Un éléphant, ça tmidges

rompe énormément.

Indigo on one shoulder, stick and bag over the other I marched on and on in the hot sun

keeping time to my elephant marching song. Despite trying not to I must have been muttering

the song aloud because Indigo started to hum and hiss along with the chorus.

Oléo oh oh, léo léo oh oh,

As the sun rose higher and it approached noon it became too hot to walk comfortably, the

sweat began to roll down my forehead and I found myself having to stop and brush it away

from my eyes with my hand. I looked for some shade or shelter where I could rest out of the

sun, but all I could see was the outline of a jagged outcrop of rock that rose from moorland

like the rusting hull of a wrecked ship on a sandbank. About half an hour later I reached the

point where the track bent around into the shadow of the rocks, and was ready to fling myself

down on to the ground to cool off in the shade when I saw there was already someone else

there sheltering from the sun. A man in a grey cloak. His creased brown leather face looked up

from under a wide brimmed black hat and he smiled and patted the ground inviting me to sit

beside him. I did so and rested my back against the cold hardness of the rock. For a minute or

two we said nothing; I breathed in deeply, catching my breath as I had almost run the last few

hundred meters to get out of the head. The man just looked at me and then Indigo curiously,

then tilted back his hat before saying,

Hello Indigo.

Indigo just stared at him, hissed and wandered off to explore the rocks.

Not very talkative creatures catapes, are they? the man said.

You know Indigo? I asked in surprise.

The man laughed, No. All catapes are called Indigo. I’ve heard of them, of course, but never

met one.

I untied the strings on the black bag and pulled out two apples, some oatmeal biscuits, some

four small tomatoes and a bottle of water. I called Indigo but she had had vanished among the

rocks and I got no reply. So I shared my meal with the man sitting next to me.

Where are you going?, I asked.

To meet the gypsies at that place on the skirts of Bagley Wood 27, he replied, and where are

you going?

! 23

I don’t know.

Well, I suppose none of know where we are really going, but most of us think we know where

we are going.

I told him about the disappearance of Dys and all that had happened afterwards – except for

the gun in my bag and the purpose of my mission - hoping that perhaps he might be able

explain things to me in a way I could understand.

When I mentioned Mr Mangabey the man nodded and said, Ah, Mangabey!

You have heard of Mr Mangabey?

I was at university with him. Students said he was the cleverest person alive. That professors

would bring their most difficult problems for him to solve. That he was working on

something huge, amazing, something that would change our lives. It was hard to tell how

much was exaggeration and how much truth. Mangabey was such an odd character, they said

he never attended classes, that he just wandered around in his long coat, that almost touched

the ground, carrying a huge bag that held his books, his computer and his notebooks and

papers, just turning up to any laboratory or lecture room he liked, where he would sit quietly

just taking notes, or fiddling with the equipment, without anyone ever stopping him Anyone

else would have been sent down, thrown out. But the university looked the other way when it

came to Mangabey. So you can imagine how the stories started and how they spread.

I met him because he used to go to a little coffee bar on campus. It opened at seven in the

morning, much earlier than the other places, before most students were up. So usually there

were just a few of the cleaners and one or two early risers in the place at that time. Mangabey

liked to be there just as it opened and have a black coffee and a poached egg on toast. Always

the same thing, poached egg and black coffee, and he would always arrive at exactly seven.

This was such a routine that Alexis, the manager, would already have made his breakfast and

it would be on his table waiting. Always the same table in the corner, set apart from the others.

He would finish his breakfast and leave. never spoke to anyone. I had got into the habit of

taking an early morning walk, I had not been sleeping well and I was not happy at university.

So I would turn up at the café just after it opened, and there would be Mangabey sitting in the

corner eating his egg. Sometimes it was just the two of us in the place. I would sit and observe

Mangabey over a coffee or tea, but he never seemed to notice me staring. In fact he didn’t

seem to be aware that there was anyone else in the café.

Then one morning just as I was finishing my coffee, and was about ready to leave, he got up

and came over to my table. The café was empty and Alexis was somewhere in the back

preparing for the day ahead.

Mangabey was carrying one of those tablet computer things. He sat down opposite, put the

tablet on the table and took a small glass bottle from his pocket. A tiny blue bottle, about the

size of my thumb, sealed with a cork. He uncorked the bottle and passed it to me.

Sniff this, he said.

No Good Mornings, introductions, or explanations. Just ‘sniff this’. That was typical

Mangabey.

So I did. Whatever was inside the bottle smelled of peppermint and ginger and something a

little sharp and harsh on the nose, like bleach. I told him this and he just raised an eyebrow

and said, Really?

Then he switched on the tablet computer and passed it across to me.

Now look at this, he said.

On the screen were some pictures fading from one to another in a continuous loop. I saw a

man sitting at a table looking at a book. A large illustrated book. He was looking at a picture

of a man watching television. This picture faded into the picture of the man watching

television. On the television was a man painting a picture. A big oil painting on an easel. The

painting was of a man sitting at a table drawing something on a page in a large sketch book.

! 24

The picture faded into the drawing The drawing was of a man carving something into a large

flat rock. This picture faded, and I saw the carver was carving a scene of a caveman painting

on the wall of cave. The cave was mostly in shadow, but a burning torch illuminated the cave

wall where the man worked. He was painting a picture of a man sitting at a table looking at a

tablet computer, looking at a picture of a man sitting at a table looking at a picture in a book.

The picture faded and I saw myself looking at the tablet with the picture of the man and the

book. The man was me. They were all me!

As the pictures looped and faded I found I could not tell which man I was. I was the painter. I

could feel the brushes in my hand, smell the oil paints. Then I was drawing. I had the pencil in

my hand, I could hear it scrape against the paper. I was concentrating on my drawing. The I

was standing in the hot sun with a hammer and some kind of chisel, tapping away at my

sculpture, frieze, or whatever they’re called. Then I was in the cave. I could smell the greasy

smoke of the torch, it stung my eyes. I was holding a brush made out of twigs and dipping it

into a half-shell filled with some black stuff, like paint. I was back at the table in the café

looking at the tablet. I was the painter again. I was the sculptor, the illustrator, the cave artist.

Over and over again.

And each were perfectly real. I could have put down the twigs and walked out of the cave. I

could have put down my brush and walked out of my studio. I could have put aside the chisel

and walked off to… I don’t know where. But I didn’t I kept drawing and painting and fading

from one place to the other. Then everything went black. Mangabey was tugging my shoulder.

He had switched off the tablet. The blank screen lay on the table in front of me. He looked

pale and excited. He grabbed my hand and shook it hard.

Thank you! Thank you!

And with that he picked up the tablet, went back to get his bag of books and hurried out of the

café without saying goodbye. I noticed that his poached egg and coffee were there untouched

on his table.

Had he drugged you?

That’s what I thought at first. Put it all down to the stuff in the little bottle. But then I thought,

aren’t drugs just chemicals, and scientists tell us we are made of chemicals. Chemicals control

our hearts, all the organs in our bodies, and our minds too. We can take drugs that make us

happy or that calm us down, or simply send us to sleep. So just thinking Mangabey had given

me a drug seemed to easy an explanation. It was what the thing, whatever it was, did that was

important. I felt that whatever it did was very real.

Look at that fat bee buzzing around in the heather. Who knows what it thinks, or if it thinks at

all. But it has a tiny brain, of a kind, that works in much the same way as yours, or mine. It

has eyes, very different to ours, but we know it sees, and we can be pretty sure that the world

it sees is a very different one from ours. But just as real.

I came to believe that Mangabey did not do something with my mind, but in some way

changed the whole world my mind had created. That I in some way I was a creation of his.

Did you meet him again?

No, I left the university shortly after. I could not settle for a life of study. I wanted to get away

from the city, to travel. I became a gypsy. I thought there were other kinds of truth out here…

With a sweep of his hand he indicated the spreading moorland around us.

… if only I could find it.

He laughed.

And now you turn up and I’m wondering if you are a creation of Mangabey’s too.

I feel real enough, I said, But, what if it is us who created Mr Mangabey?

Smart Boy! That is just what I was going to say. All just one picture after another, and who

knows who knows the difference between artists and their drawings.

! 25

We sat back in silence for a while, enjoying the coolness of the shade and listening to the buzz

of the bees among the heather and the drone of planes high above that scratched their white

trails across the blue emptiness of the sky.

It was time for me to move on. I stood up and picked up my bag. The man said he would walk

with me to a fork in the track not far ahead and asked where I was going. I had to tell him that

I was not sure and just followed instructions from Indigo.

Then you will probably keep to the main path, the gypsy replied, and I will be turning off to

right.

Indigo appeared from among the rocks and for once did not climb straight up on to my

shoulder but loped along beside us as we walked down the track. We said very little each of us

lost in our own thoughts. Above the sky was filling with vapour trails as plane after plane

passed overhead.

There are a lot of aeroplanes today, and they all seem to be going in the same direction, I said.

They will be carrying people to the Inauguration. All the great and famous want to be there.

Inauguration?

You don’t know? Tomorrow is the inauguration of our new President. The first President of

the World. You must know that.

I said nothing.

At the point where the paths branched the gypsy shook my hand and strode off down the

smaller track, but before he did so he looked at me and said thoughtfully,

Should you meet a man called Shrike in your travels, take care.

I stood and watched until he had vanished among the heather. Indigo scrambled up on to my

shoulder, wrapped her reprehensible tail around my neck, and I set off too.



Un éléphant, ça trompe… énormément.

1

Chapter 5

The Inauguration Coronation

After The Six set off to bring back the first President of the World there was huge excitement.

The names of The Six, if you are interested, went under the names:

! 26

Nils Holgersson from Sweden

Bahwan Putih and Bahwan Merah twin sisters from Java

Paul B Onion from the USA

Illya Muromets from Russia

and Kathy Saritsagara from India 28

Everyone who was rich and powerful wanted to be at The Inauguration; presidents, queens,

kings, sultans, princes and princesses, prime ministers, captains of industry, religious leaders

from all the great faiths and many smaller cults and almost forgotten beliefs. When both

Rastafarians and Pastafarians demanded a place for their representatives a special meeting of

the United Nations was held to decide exactly who should be sent to the Palace of the Golden

Moon and why.

All leaders of the hundred and ninety-three countries making up the United Nations were

automatically included, plus important ex-presidents, queens, kings, sultans, princes and

princesses, prime ministers were to be invited and all leaders of religions with over twenty

million followers and the two hundred richest people in the world who were not presidents,

queens, kings, sultans etc. In all just over a thousand world leaders were to be housed in the

almost completed Palace of the Golden Moon. This included President Colonel Kepala Besar,

General Astorio Astuto and James McQuarry.

No one thought to invite Inknavar Marz.

So he packed his bag and left his village and set off for the Palace of the Golden Moon on

foot.

2

After it had been decided that TRUDI should choose the president all the previous potential

candidates gave up their campaigns. All except James McQuarry. He simply changed his

tactics. He set up The McQuarry Foundation with its slogan Together We Can Change the

World. The television adverts, the posters all continued and the face of James McQuarry was

everywhere.

He did exactly what his PA Artemisia Arnside had instructed him to do, he told everyone how

he looked forward to helping the new president change the world for the better and how his

Foundation would help in any way it could. ‘The New Future is Together’, he repeated in

every interview.

Together We Can Educate the World

Together We Heal the World

Together We Can Feed World

The New Future is Together

The slogans and the face of James McQuarry appeared everywhere; on billboards beside the

highways, on screens above busy city streets, every paper or magazine, on phones in remote

African villages, on screens in planes, ships and trains. Everywhere.

3

It was late when Six arrived at their destination, and the night was dark and raining. They had

driven through a thunderstorm past a palatial redbrick Town Hall, past the looming form of a

cathedral silhouetted by a ring of streetlights, past the Governor’s Residence with its sweeping

flight of steps and portico gleaming in the night rain, past mansions and the grand houses of

the rich. Then out into the suburbs where the empty streets were lined with parked cars and

! 27

row after row of almost identical houses lined the roads; some with a square patch of grass in

front, some with a patch of gravel and a few potted plants, some withhold fashioned looking

bow windows and others with flat double glazed windows, some with a tiny porch, others

with doors that opened on to the front step. Tiny differences that are only noticeable if you

looked carefully, and The Six were driving slowly and looking very carefully through sheets

of falling rain. Nils touched Kathy’s and said, pull over I think we’re here. Kathy parked the

bus and turned to look at the others sitting behind her. They checked the directions and Paul

nodded, This is it.

Two of them , Nils and Bhawang Putih clambered out of the bus and ignoring the rain, opened

a gate, crossed a small patch of lawn and peered in through a window. What they saw made

them hesitate and then return to the bus where they told the others what they had seen.

Was that really our President? Has there been a mistake?

They consulted their instructions and the instructions were quite clear and there was no

mistake.

I think some people are going to quite surprised, said Kathy.

The others looked at her.

That’s meiosis! she said.

4

In the caves of ice beneath The Palace of the Golden Moon Ahmad Shannon and The

Custodian had finished installing TRUDI and linking the computer to every room in the place.

The whole building would respond to the mood of the new President, the lighting, the heating,

the scented sprays that were wafted through the rooms. All could be overridden with the touch

of a button or just a word; the President could lock doors, turn on music, summon help, order

food, or call up a screen on almost any wall and speak to anyone anywhere in the world, all

with just a word. It had not been easy working with The Custodian, who had, had described

what was needed in the fewest possible words been very reluctant to allow the architect in the

same room as TRUDI, let alone speak to him face to face. But Ahmad Shannon had insisted,

the job had exhausted him and he was eager to leave. He felt he worked himself too hard and

that the strain was beginning to tell. Exploring the still empty rooms, with their shining

marble floors, gold and silver walls, climbing the grand staircases and walking down a maze

of seemingly endless corridors he felt strangely disorientated. He heard the sound of laughter

in locked rooms that should have been empty, he heard running footsteps behind him and

when he turned all he saw was empty corridor. He began to smell the smells of his childhood,

the scent of ripe guavas, kitchen spices, coriander, cumin, cloves and the smell of mould and

damp that lingered after the long rains. Later he caught glimpses of small children dressed in

black disappearing around corners or into rooms he found locked when he tried to follow.

Most of the children in black seemed like shadows, but one child he saw several times, before

she darted out of view, had a bright thatch of orange hair.

He left The Custodian alone with TRUDI, said his goodbyes and left The Palace of the Moon

forever.

The palace was filled up with furniture, fittings and equipment, these were followed by

cleaners, gardeners, cooks, servants, clerks, officials and administrators. All preparing for the

arrival of The President. There had been some argument about who should speak for the

thousand world leaders and lead the Inauguration. A vote was taken and unsurprisingly James

McQuarry was nominated.

Word was received that The Six were returning with the President and the thousand leaders

assembled in The Grand Hall of the Palace of the Golden Moon.

! 28

Many thousands more were camped in the fields around the palace hoping to catch a glimpse

of the first President of the World. Huge screens had been set up to show the Inauguration

Ceremony and the whole thing had the atmosphere of a festival, with music, entertainment,

food, laughter and hope.

Most of the world leaders had arrived at the palace by plane or helicopter but James

McQuarry decided to land at an airport over two hundred miles away and then drive

accompanied by only by Artemesia. He had two reasons for doing this, he wanted some quiet

time to think and he wanted to see something of the country. He wanted to see the country

because he felt this was his country. This was where his grandparents came from. Like many

emigrants they fled poverty and made their way to the USA, and were among the lucky ones

who succeeded and made their fortunes. They made their money quarrying limestone and

slate so naturally when they decided to choose a more American name they chose Quarry. The

Mac was added in honour of Grandfather Arevik’s best friend and business partner, a Scot.

In fact, James McQuarry saw little of the country. The journey that he had expected to take, at

the most, four hours took far longer than that. The roads were narrow and poorly surfaced, not

at all suitable for a Ferrari, and packed with traffic; cars, vans, wagons, busses, horses,

donkeys and people, all heading off to the great festival of The Inauguration. Some just to

watch and marvel at the grandeur of the ceremony and The Palace of the Golden Moon, others

to take advantage of the huge crowds to sell goods and offer services; most were going to set

up food stalls, or were entertainers, musicians, magicians, storytellers, acrobats but there were

also barbers, masseurs, shoe repairers and those offering to rent tents, binoculars, chairs,

umbrellas and toilets.

As James McQuarry slowly forced his car through the crowds it felt frustratingly out of its

natural element, like hauling a boat up a muddy shore. He sounded his horn, wound down his

window and shouted, asking for space to get through; for the most part the crowds parted with

an extraordinary good humour. The expensive car meant it was someone important who

needed to be at the palace on time and such was the universal feeling of goodwill no one

resented moving aside to let him through. The traffic got thinner after they left the narrow

country roads and took a longer but less used route that crossed a wide expanse of undulating

open heathland, dotted with great clumps of flowering yellow broom. There were few other

cars and only once were they slowed down, by a string of horse drawn gypsy vardos. Once

past the waggons James was able to speed along again, making up for lost time. The road

dipped down into a shallow valley and took a sudden sharp left turn.

Taken by surprise James braked sharply and swung around the bend. As he rounded the bend

he struck a man. A man with a pack on his back, walking too close to the centre of the road.

James swerved striking the man with one of the wings of the car sending him tumbling off the

road and down the embankment of loose stones. Shoes and boots lay scattered all over the

road.

Brakes screeching the car pulled into the edge of the road scraping along bushes that grew

out of the rocks banked up at the opposite side. James and Atremisia leaped out of the car and

raced, slipping and sliding on the loose earth and pebbles, down the slope to where the man

lay.

Atremisia leaned down and lifted one of the man’s limp arms and took his pulse. Then she

dropped his arm, straightened up and looked at James.

This is terrible!, he said, We must call for an ambulance.

He took his phone out of his jacket pocket. The unique silver JMQ iPhone that had Apple had

made especially for him.

I’m sorry I didn’t charge it for you. I think the battery’s dead.

! 29

Artemesia said, quietly leaning forward and taking the phone out of James’s hand and

switching it off before slipping it into her pocket. I should have been driving more carefully.

I’m so sorry. I just wanted to catch up all our lost time.

What… ?

Artemesia looked carefully at James. Was there something in her tired look that said, Oh no,

here we go again!? (You as a reader will never know. But the writer knows that was exactly

what she thought, because the writer knows everything Artemesia thought. And much of it is

best left unwritten.)

I was driving. Artemesia said curtly.

No! No. No. I cannot allow you. This is entirely my responsibility, and I must face the

consequences. I will not allow you…

James, said Artemesia, a trifle wearily, This is not entirely up to you. You may be our leader.

our inspiration, and it is your money, your businesses that fund the foundation and pay our

wages, but we work as a team. We cannot manage without you and you know very well that

you that you cannot run a business, let alone a global foundation, on your own. This is just

one old man who by his own stupidity got knocked down by our car. We cannot get in the way

of everything you are trying to do. Because it will. It will take your time, and your time is

very, very precious. And it could damage your image, and that is even more precious. We

cannot afford to take you away from your work with our schools, our farms, our hospitals.

What about all those people? Countless people, who rely on you to save them from their

wretched lives. Lift them out of the poverty and misery they are in. You know only you can do

that. It has to be you. You. Yes, there are plenty of talented people in our organisation, but

they all look to you to lead the team.

You are always telling us we are a team. So listen to me now. This is a problem, like any

other, and:

Together We Can Solve any Problem.

Remember that?

James stretched out an arm and rested it on Artemesia’s shoulder, and looking straight into

Artemesia’s eyes he said,

You are right. Thank you Artemesia. I admit I am something of a control freak, but I cannot

control everything. There are times when I must let others take charge. That’s true. What do

you suggest we do.

I suggest we go back to the car and talk about it there.

Together they clambered up the loose gravel slope to the road leaving Inknavar Marz lying, as

if asleep, under a wild broom bush, a scattering of yellow flowers on the brown skin of his

face.

Artemesia idly picked up some of the scattered shoes and tossed them to the side of the road

then walked over and examined the Ferrari.

We can’t do nothing. There are the scratches on our car, for one thing, and the dent on the

wing. Those gypsies will have seen us pass. So we say we changed drivers after that. You

were tired, so I took over. No other cars on the road so far, but there will be soon. Before all

this I noticed a castle somewhere off to the right. Look you can just see some turrets over

there.

She pointed over the heath to where they could just see, poking above a ridge, a flag flying

from a tower of the castle.

Let’s go there, and ask them for help.

Before she had finished the sentence she had climbed into the car and switched on the engine.

James McQuarry scrambled into the passenger seat.

! 30

The drive to the castle ran through white fenced green fields as well kept as any English

meadow, where a white mule watched them curiously as they passed 29. They drive led into

well tended gardens; flower beds and borders divided by low box hedges. Neatly clipped yew

trees gave shade to the paved paths. They pulled up on the gravel beside a short flight of steps

leading an ancient wooden door where a servant stood, having heard the sound of the

approaching car he must have hurried to investigate. He ignored Artemesia’s questions in

English and instead gestured to them to follow and led then inside, through the vast entrance

hall to a library where a man sat at a long oak table, his back to them. The servant said

something, in a language none of them could understand, and then left closing the door behind

him.

The man at the table rose and turned to meet his guests. He was somewhere in his early fifties,

and wore an expensively simple black suit and open collared white shirt. His carefully

combed black hair had begun to grey at his temples. His skin though not sallow, had the

yellow of a faded tan that suggested that he had once spent much more time outside than he

did now. His eyes were black and deep set, and he regarded his visitors curiously.

James McQuarry! What a surprise! And a great honour. What can I do for you?

Naturally he recognised James. He would have had to have been a hermit not to. and although

it most have been an extraordinary surprise for the person behind the best known face in the

world, the face that looked out of every newspaper and TV set, to suddenly appear in your

room unannounced, the man’s voice was completely controlled and expressed not the slightest

touch of surprise.

But I’m being rude. I have not introduced myself. I am Claus Ferrara 30, and, of course, I know

who you are. Can I offer you coffee, tea, something else?

He completely ignored the presence of Artemesia.

James said no and explained about the accident and asked if he could use a telephone.

Artemesia cut in.

I was driving. The accident was my fault and I would like to report it. We need an ambulance

to be sent as soon as possible.

Claus looked at her and said slowly.

As I understand it the man is dead.

As far as I could tell, replied Artemesia.

Either way. You must leave this to me.

He pressed a button on the wall.

In this country these kinds of accidents happen all the time. The roads are appalling and

people and animals wander as the will all over the road. We have our own ways of sorting

things out without going into the lengthy, and very expensive, legal process that you have in

the USA.

The servant who had shown them to the library entered the room and Claus spoke to him in

his own language for some minutes. Then he asked James.

Can you describe the spot. The place where the accident happened.

He translated James reply to his servant, who, bowed to Claus, nodded to James and

Artemesia before leaving the room.

There we are. Your problem is solved. A very good man Aleksandr. He can be relied on

completely. I have assumed you are going to the Inaguration so I have ordered a helicopter.

sadly, I have not been invited and will not be going. I have no intention of being crushed

among the sweating masses that surround the outside of the palace. I shall have your car

repaired and sent on to you. Now Mr. McQuarry, what can I get you to drink?

Then almost as an afterthought.

And you, Miss….?

Artemesia Arnside.

! 31

Miss Arnside, he said with a slight emphasis on the second name, and the faintest brushstroke

of a smile, What can I get you?

Just two coffees? I shall tempt you with something stronger afterwards. After all, you will not

be driving!

He noticed that Artemesia was gazing up at a portrait on the library wall. It looked like the

work of Lorenzo Lotto, but it was modern. A picture of a woman, a modern portrait but done

in a style that made clever references to the great Renaissance master.

The tilt of the head, the draped silk scarf the hands that held a sprig of cherry blossom.

But there was something modern about the expression, the half smile; something frank and

open, despite the suggestion of a blush in the pinkness of the cheeks. Artemesia felt the artist

had deliberately said something, something outrageous and daring, something unexpected and

slightly shocking, and said it just so that she could capture that expression.

Beautiful isn’t it. It’s by Fran Polda. 31 She’s made quite a name for herself now, but was

almost unknown when that was painted. It is of my first wife.

5

The Great Hall of the Place of the Golden Moon was packed to capacity. Chairs had been

provided only for those heads of state whose age prevented them standing for any length of

time.

A path marked for the arrival of the president had been cleared down the centre of the room, it

led to a dais in the centre of which stood a chair.

James McQuarry had arrived only slightly later than some of the other important delegates

and now stood with several others beside the gilded chair on the raised dais at the end of The

Great Hall.

Artemesia had to remain in the administrative quarters attached to the palace and was in the

gardens where a huge screen had been erected for staff to watch the proceedings. A distant

roar from outside The Great Hall signalled the approach of the armoured bus containing The

Six and the new president as it passed through cheering crowds. Gradually the roar grew in

intensity as the bus approached the gates of the palace. In the garden with a cold glass of

white wine in her hand Artemesia watched the progress of the bus on the giant screens. It was

completely surrounded by the surging crowd that had pushed forward to catch a glimpse of

the president through the windows of the bus, but it was futile to try, the black reflective

widows gave nothing away. Some of the cheering crowd threw flowers and strewed rose

petals in front of the bus, others held up small children, hand painted signs and one man, a

young goat, as if making offerings to some sacred vehicle.

But all the crowd could see as the bus edged its way forward were Nils the driver, and Kathy

beside him on the front seat.

At first Nils and Kathy had tried to ignore the crowd, but as the bus got nearer to the palace

where the crowd was more tightly back and they could go no faster than a slow walking pace,

the infectious good humour of the cheering crowd began to take effect. They wound down the

windows, smiled and waved, stretched out their arms to touch the finger tips of the

outstretched hands of the surrounding crowd. It was almost as though they had become the

focus of the whole event, as if they were some fairy tale royal couple on the way to their

coronations, and the bus a golden coach.

Inside The Great Hall the cheering became deafening and any kind of conversation

impossible. Presidents, Prime Ministers, The Pope, Arch Bishops, ex-presidents, queens,

kings, sultans, princes and princesses, prime ministers stood and shuffled awkwardly from

! 32

foot to foot. Then like a mighty wave breaking on a beach, or a rolling clap of thunder, the last

mightiest, cheer from the crowd told them the bus had entered the palace gates.

Artemesia took a sip of wine and watched as guards pushed back the press of the crowd to

allow the bus to creep through the gates. The cameras switched to the delegates inside the

Great Hall, and to a close up of James McQuarry standing beside the golden chair. Artemesia

shook her head with annoyance. He looked nervous and the camera picked out a bead of

sweat on his forehead before cutting to the beaming face of the Dalai Llama. Artemesia took

another drink of wine.

All around the place the crowd fell silent as they turned their attention to the screens. Inside

the Great Hall the delegates too waited in silence.

Then with a crash the doors of the hall were thrown open and The Six entered wearing black

and gold uniforms and the pale blue berets of the United Nations, they were grouped around a

small figure as they strode up the path towards the dais. At the foot of the steps they stopped,

saluted, and stepped aside to allow a small girl, of around ten or twelve years old, to ascend

the steps and seat herself on the gilded chair. As one the delegates gasped, swallowed and

waited. The bead of sweat on James’s forehead tricked down his cheek and dropped to the

marble floor. Then recovering his usual unmatchable self –possession he stepped forward,

made a short formal bow and with his famous charming smile said.

I have been given the great honour of being allowed to introduce to this gathering of world

leaders, our new President.

The girl looked up at him and said coldly,

I don’t want to be a president!

And standing up she took a step forward to the microphone that had been placed in front of

her chair and said loudly and clearly in a voice that echoed around the room.

I do not wish to be President. I wish to be Empress. I wish to be Empress of the World!

James McQuarry stepped alongside her and said calmly and quietly, but loud enough for his

words to be picked up by the microphone and heard throughout the hall.

I’m sorry but that is not possible. You see, you do not have the power to call yourself anything

but President. That is if you have really been chosen to be our president.

As he spoke screens lit up on the walls all around the room showing the face of the smiling

girl, and a booking voice spoke from hidden speakers.

This is the President chosen by me Truly Deep Intelligence, using the criteria chosen and

delegated by the will of the People of the World, and following my instructions I have

bestowed on her absolute power. There is no reason at all why she should not change her title

from that of President to that of Empress.

The sharp intake of breath from assembled dignitaries sounded sounded as though a sudden

wind had just swept through the hall.

President General Arturio Astuto who was standing next to Colonel Kepala Besar whispered,

Absolute power! ‘Absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ It was Lord Acton who said that. 32

If any knows, you should! I said that. replied the Colonel.

With huge aplomb James McQuarry bowed deeply, smiled a smile that took charm to limits

previously unknown, murmured

My apologies Your Majesty

Then he stepped down from the dais and took the crown from the head of the Queen of

England who because of her great age was seated on the front row of delegates, returning to

the dais he stepped behind the gilded chair and proclaimed.

I crown our new Empress….

Then leaning forward he whispered,

Could her Majesty possibly tell me her name?

! 33

The girl on the gilded chair suddenly felt cold. Her name. To some people it might think it

cute and unusual. But she had lived with it all her life, to her her name was so embarrassing

stupid, so mindnumbingly dull, so very ordinary, so nothing. She hated her real name.

Desperately she searched for a name. A proud name, a royal name, a name to be respected, a

name to be said with pride for centuries to come. A name suitable for an Empress.

But all that came into her mind was a plastic toy she had seen in a shop window some weeks

before. A cheap shoddy trumpet that blew bubbles. Her mind was completely empty of all

other things. Time seemed to have come to a standstill.

James coughed politely.

But the picture was still there.*

Then without meaning to and unable to stop herself she blurted out,

is Flimzy Bubbletrumpet! My Name is Flimzy Bubbletrumpet!

And without trace of a smirk or snigger but in a clam commanding voice that echoed around

every corner and crevice of The Great Hall of the Palace of the Golden Moon, James

McQuarry pronounced,

I crown you Flimzy Bubbletrumpet, Empress of the World!

* A similar thing happened to me. I could not get the image and the words flimsy bubble

trumpet out of my mind. And then this story drifted in.

This is the original flimsy bubble trumpet.

The times when we blurt out something very stupid, something we had no intention of saying,

are some of the worst moments in our lives. Words spoken cannot be unspoken. There was no

changing it now. What needn't have happened did. 33 The moving finger had written her name

in the sand and all her tears could not wash it out. 34

The dreadful feeling of sick emptiness as all self-confidence and assurance drain away and

cold damp misery wells up in its place is one of the worst feelings of all. Trying to explain

! 34

just makes things worse. It just leaves us struggling in a sticky tangle of embarrassment and

humiliation.

Artemesia looked up at the screen that was showing a huge close up of the face of the child

Empress of the World. At first the face was just red and close to tears, then she could not

prevent the the tears welling up and streaming down her face as she started stammering

something about just being called Empress, or simply Em. But the crowd around did not care.

After a moment of stunned shock when everyone turned and looked at those surrounding

them, then the crowd had erupted in an explosion of joy.

Only Artemesia spat out her wine and muttered

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid child!

And cursed. I will not tell you what she said. It is better imagined. Imagine the thing you

would never have dared to say to your Parents and you will not be far from the words

Artemisia muttered, a little too loudly. A child in black standing next to her looked up, then

took out a tiny book and a made a note of it.

You should remember that when The Empress announced her name and was immediately

overcome with embarrassment it meant nothing to almost everyone watching. Even among

those who spoke good English there were few who knew what ‘flimsy’ meant, and for all they

knew ‘Bubbletrumpet’ could be a common English name like Winterbottom or Featherstone

or Blenkinsop.

When they saw the tears on the Empress’s face almost everyone assumed that they were tears

of happiness.

It was not only Artemesia who was cynical, there were some people in well furnished rooms

sitting in front of a television with a glass in their hands or in university common rooms, on

the sunlit terrace of a villa or an oak panelled club room, who choked on their wine or fine

malt whisky. These people were as yet untouched by the infectious feeling of joy that had

swept the world. They considered themselves too rational, too sensible to be caught up in

what they would have called ‘mass hysteria’. All they saw was the ridiculous absurdity of the

ceremony and thought of the dreadful consequences that were likely to come. But other

people’s joy and happiness is very infectious, even if it is at the expense of your own comfort,

and no one could escape hearing the cheering crowds people and seeing the smiles on their

faces.

For most of the world the name was no more absurd, and just as meaningless as, say, Saxe-

Coburg Gotha. But for a few names are extremely important and a name can make a person,

but a person can never make a name worth anything much.

Don’t cry Your Majesty, said James McQuarry, Listen to the people. They love you. Speak to

them. Through her tears The Empress stammered,

Thank you… thank you. To thank you all I would like to make a Proclamation. I proclaim the

next three days a Holiday. I would like you to all have a huge party, with lots of cakes and

music and games and dancing and for you all to enjoy yourselves, but not to forget all those

who are sick and those who care for them, and those who still have to do important work, and

those who are poor and hungry. You must share what you have and make them happy too.

That is all I’m going to say for now, except Thank You everyone!

Artemesia shook her head and pushed her way through the cheering crowd towards the gate

that led out of the garden and towards the staff apartments of the palace. She had to talk to

James as she felt he was in danger of making a complete fool of himself and endangering

everything they had achieved so far.

! 35

On the edge of the crowd, near the gate, a small red headed girl in black also shook her head.

No one tells me when and how to enjoy myself! No one!

The Island on the Lake 35

After we left the gypsy the track wound down into a shallow valley, where a river flowed and

a lake gleamed silver in the sunlight, a tiny island in its centre. Dusk was beginning to fall as

we neared the lake and I could make out the dark shape of what looked like a ruined cottage

on the island. Beside the cottage I could see a figure bent over hoeing a patch of ground.

Every so often he would drop the hoe and leap into the air waving his arms violently for a few

moments before stooping to pick up the hoe and start work again.

Lets just sit here for while, Indigo hissed in my ear.

But it will be getting dark soon and shouldn’t we hurry on to look for somewhere to spend the

night?

Just sit down and rest.

You could not argue with Indigo, so I sat down on a warm rock and gazed across to the island

and listened to the soft lapping of the lake water.

The person hoeing stood up and stretched and as he did so he noticed us sitting on the far

shore. He jumped up and down waving his arms more frantically than before before to attract

our attention, and then hurried down to where a boat was moored and started to row across to

where we sat. As he got nearer we could see that it was a young man with longish black hair

and glasses who was rowing the boat. Every so often his hair would fall across his face and he

would have to stop and push it out of his eyes, or his glasses would slip down his nose and he

would have to screw them back in place. Also he did not seem a very proficient oarsman and

the boat often veered sharply from side to side and zigzagged its way towards us across the

water. Finally, he stepped out of the boat, pushed it up on to the shingle and walked towards

us.

Hello! It’s not often I have visitors. What can I do for you?

I explained that we had not meant to summon him from his island and that we were only

passing by and had to hurry on to find somewhere we could stay the night.

So you have not come here to see me? That is somewhat disappointing I have to say.

Nevertheless you must come out to my island and pass the night there, you are still a very

long way from the nearest town. You will not reach it tonight. Besides your company will be

very welcome. Please get in the boat.

And so we snaked and looped and splashed our way across the island, with frequent stops to

adjust glasses and brush back hair.

Despite the jerks and splashes of our boatman it was beautiful out on the lake. The evening

sun glimmered on the water and the sky was a purple glow dotted with peach pink clouds. A

flock of small birds flew over us chirruping and chirping as they passed. The boatman

muttered darkly something about ‘droppings’.

Do you like beans? The boatman asked.

What kind of beans? I asked.

Green beans. Runner beans. String beans.

I replied that I did.

! 36

Do you like honey? The boatman asked.

Yes I do. I said.

Good, then I shall feed you beans and honey.

I thought this was an odd and not very pleasant combination, but said nothing for fear of

offending our boatman.

Do you know why I will feed you beans and honey?

I said no.

Because all I have is beans and honey. Honey and beans. I have come to detest them both.

Though I detest the beans. horrible stringy things they are, but slightly less horrible than the

honey which is too waxy and thick and carries the memory of every sting I got when taking it

from the hive.

You would not, perhaps, have a little piece of cheese in that bag of yours. And perhaps a crust

of bread that would not mind sharing?

I said I was not sure but we may well have some bread and cheese.

Ah, Paradise enow! A piece of cheese, a loaf of bread, a book of verses underneath the bough.

36 As the poet said. No the best of poets, but still a poet.

As we disembarked on a tumbledown jetty the boatman turned and said,

Welcome to my island. Both you and your katpe are my honoured guests. William.

He formally shook my hand and with a slight bow picked up Indigo’s paw hand and kissed it

lightly and I told him our names.

Once we were on the island I could see that the cottage was no more than a tumble down

shack. A few straggling beans grew on the stony plot of ground where our host had been

hoeing and beyond that a solitary bee hive. On our way up to the hut William paused every

few yards and waved his arms around madly.

Midges! They’re a curse! A curse! They never leave me alone, morning ‘til night. Inside the

hut was a wooden table covered with a litter of paper, pens and note books, four wooden

chairs and a tall cupboard on which stood several jars of honey and some bottles of green

beans. The hut was divided in two by a tattered curtain through which I could glimpse the

wooden frame of a bed.

William swept the papers off the table into a box and lit a candle, dripped some wax on to the

table and stuck the candle firmly down upon it.

Sit down! Sit down! he cried.

There was indeed bread and cheese to be had from the black bag, which we ate with honey,

and drank strong sweet tea from cracked mugs. The beans remained of the shelf.

While we ate and drank our tea William talked.

Ah, this is terrible place. Terrible place! And to think I once longed to be somewhere like this.

There are the midges. A curse they are, and a curse be upon them. And the birds…. The ducks,

the geese, the swans. All night long, quacking, honking, hooting. And in the day the constant

brawling of sparrows in the eaves. I swear I have not had one good night’s sleep since I first

set foot on this island. And in the day the constant brawling of sparrows in the eaves Bitten by

midges, flies, mosquitoes and bees. It is not easy to take their honey. Yes, this is a terrible

place, sure enough.

Then why do you stay here?

Ah, well now. I once lived in the city – oh, the cafes, the company, the bright lights, how I

miss it all – and sometimes I used stop and stand on those busy grey streets and think,

wouldn’t it be grand to get away and have some peace. A little cabin by a lake, where I could

live quietly and write. So one day I packed my bags and came here. And I have regretted it

! 37

ever since. But I will be leaving soon. I am almost finished here. Now where are you going?

You and your little leopard of the moon with its round eyes and wavering body. Like a

familiar, but unfamiliar. A creature of the imagination.

(Indigo hissed and climbed on to the cupboard and sat among the bottles of beans.)

But not entirely, more like that little feathered thing that perches in the soul, and sings the tune

without the words. Your Indigo has something of that. But I was asking where you are off to.

I told William much of what had happened to me, but said nothing of the gun and my mission.

Ah, he said, the winds awaken and the leaves whirl round.

37

The dreamer is become the

dream.

But how can you understand that? I will not spread my dreams under your feet,

38You would

either have to go to sleep or wake up, and either way you would never be sure.

She has returned, you know, the glimmering girl with apple blossom in her hair. 39 I have heard

it on my little radio. I know what you must do.

You must go to The Palace of the Golden Moon.

We sat up late into the night and William told me story after story from the legends and fairy

tales of the country he grew up with. His eyes sparkled in the candle light as he leaned

forward across the table to emphasis some important detail in the story. Sometimes he could

not sit still and rose and paced about the tiny hut, gesturing, breaking into poetry and

becoming totally immersed in his storytelling.

Outside the lonely cries of water birds echoed across the lake, and the wind came and went

whispering around the hut.

You speak almost as if fairies are real, I said.

What! He stopped and looked at me. Of course they are real. At least as real as stocks, shares,

debentures, warranties, and the like. Did you ever walk through a green wood and come to a

tiny green clearing and swear to yourself you can hear the distant sound of music and think to

yourself, this is where the stockbrokers come and dance on a moonlit night. Or crossing a

lonely moor hear the distant sound of baying and see far off the shapes of a pack of share

certificates hunting for the souls of the wicked? Did you? Or perhaps walking in the shadows

of a dark valley you hurry past every rock lest a mortgage leap out and grab you by the

shoulder? Do mothers and fathers send their children to sleep with stories of Estate Agents

and Financial Managers? Do they? Aren’t fairies, ghosts and witches more real than these

things?

He leaned closer and looked straight into my eyes.

I have seen them! They are all around us here. They are the leaves that blow across the water.

They are the nine and fifty swans on clamorous wings. Mysterious and beautiful. 40 Oh, They

are the white swan’s feathers that fall from the sky. They are the sparkling water in the

mountain streams., how I love this place!

But the midges? I hardly liked to remind him of the midges.

His face fell and he sat down again.

Ah, the midges. In life it always comes back to the midges. Now you can go and sleep on that

bed through there. I have to stay up to write. No argument. I can stretch out on the floor if I

need to sleep, or if I stay up all night writing, as I frequently do, I can go to bed after I have

rowed you to the shore in the morning. Goodnight, and thank you for the cheese.

Just after dawn the next morning before the midges has risen and the lake was still blanketed

in mist William rowed us to the shore, splashing and weaving his way over the water.

Does your island have a name? I asked.

! 38

Of course, he replied. Don’t all places have names? I call it Noman because…. 41

I never heard his reply because he suddenly dropped his oars to swat at an early rising

horsefly that had landed on his neck. The boat rocked so violently 42 for a moment it seemed

we were going to capsize, and by the time we had steadied it again and retrieved the oars my

question had been forgotten.

After waving goodbye to William and standing a while to watch him row, splash and spin his

boat back to the island we followed the path along lake shore. At the end of the lake where it

narrowed into a reedy creek I turned and looked back. Though the sun had now risen the mist

had not yet lifted and I could no longer see boat or island, but dark against the greyness of

mist and water I saw far out on the lake three strange black and ugly birds perched on a rock.

As I watched they dived into the water and vanished. 43 I shuddered before turning and stting

off to follow the course of the river that flowed out of the lake anddown into a pleasant

wooded valley.

The Bird Poet

For the next few days we walked through broad steep sided valleys dotted with white painted,

red roofed farmhouses and tiny villages; music and laughter filled the air as we passed by.

Everyone was celebrating and we were invited into every house we passed to eat and drink

and pass the night if we wanted to stay. Every car, wagon and cart that passed stopped and

asked if we wanted a lift. A farmer’s wife had been the first person to explain the reason for

the all the parties and picnics we saw.

We were going to have a President. Now we have an Empress! She is just a child, only a little

older than my own daughter. She is such an angel! Such a lovely name too. What was it?

Felicity De Burgundy. So royal I thought. But she said, ‘Just call me Em. That’s short for

Empress. Isn’t that lovely? Things will get better for poor people like us now. We are all so

happy! Come and sit down and eat with us.

Everyone else said much the same thing. The religious might add that they thought the

Empress was surely sent by God; the atheist said that grown up people were so corrupt it was

time for someone young and innocent to take control; the old said it was time we were led by

the young and the young were delighted to have an Empress who knew what it was like to be

young and not just as a distant memory. Dreamers said that the Empress was like a Princess

from a fairy tale and hardened realists said that as everything else had failed they would go

along with the Empress because at least for now she really seemed to care.

Indigo told me to leave the wide metaled road we had been travelling on and take a narrow

lane that led upwards and over a vast heathland dotted with bushes of flowering yellow

broom. We jumped down from the back of the truck we had been riding in, and waved thanks

to the driver and set off on foot again.

After an hour or so of walking in silence we saw up ahead that our road led us towards the

white smear of a waterfall cascading down a steep rocky hillside and flowing beneath a

humped stone bridge then dashing off until it became a glittering stream in the valley below.

Indigo, I asked, is this Empress the Demon Empress I am supposed to assassinate?

Though the black bag was heavy across my shoulder, and I was never able to forget the rusty

pistol that it contained, the word ‘assassinate’ sounded ridiculous. I was no assassin. No

murderer.

Indigo just hissed, Yes!

! 39

But she isn’t an evil Empress! She is no Demon Empress. She is just a young girl and

everyone seems to love her. I haven’t heard one bad thing said about her. This is all madness

and I can’t go through with it. I can’t. I thought I was going to be rescuing Dys from some

terrible monster. Not kill an ordinary, innocent girl. I can’t. I’m going to throw the gun away

and go back.

Back where? said Indigo. Do you know how to get back? No. Even if you did you won’t. You

will carry on and finish what you set out to do.

I won’t! I shouted.

Indigo jumped down off my shoulder. She hissed and her eyes blazed up at me.

Just for a moment I could smell the smell of burning rubber, of petrol and plastic, blood and

bleach before it was replaced by the smell of honeysuckle, yarrow, meadowsweet and elder.

The flowers of field and hedgerow. And my anger and confusion faded. I knew I had to go on

and go through with the thing that I had agreed to do, whatever form it might take. The bag

seemed much lighter now and I was eager to hurry on. I could hear the sound of laughing

voices above the sound of falling water.

On a grassy bank beside the stone bridge I could see the figures of two people sat on a spread

out blanket surrounded by all the paraphernalia for the making of a picnic, plates and glasses,

sandwiches, cake, fruit and bottles of what might have been lemonade; a red and green

backpack and a wicker picnic basket lay to one side. One of the figures was a girl in a blue

floral dress and the other a fair haired young man. They waved, then shouted something I

could not hear above the roar of the cataract, and gestured for us to come and join them.

Showering, said the girl as I sat down beside them on the blanket.

Spouting, said the young man.

Dripping, said the girl

Splitting, said the young man

Shining, said the girl.

Help yourself to a sandwich. Gliding.

Sliding.

Falling.

Brawling

Sprawling

We are describing the water as it comes down the fall 44. Would you like to join in? Asked the

young man. Sprinkling

Twinkling! said the girl.

Sounding, said the young man.

Rounding, said the girl. And then they both looked at me.

Um.. can I have ‘bounding’? I said.

You certainly can, said the young man. Bubbling

Troubling

Doubling, I said.

Grumbling

Rumbling

Tumbling

Rushing. I’m Milan. But call me Mi. Have another sandwich.

Brushing

Gushing,

Lapping. Lucy. Said the girl. Try the lemonade I made myself.

Rapping

Clapping

Slapping,

! 40

Curling

Whirling. I’m You I said. The lemonade is delicious. Probably the best I have ever tasted.

Purling. Meaning rippling. Thanks. You?! I nodded You and Mi! That’s good!

Twirling,

Thumping

Bumping

Jumping,

Dashing

Flashing

Splashing

Clashing;

I think we ran out of breath before we ran out of words. Indigo was hanging upside down

from a tree that overhung the stream and watched while we matched words.

What a reprehensible tail! said Milan

Yes, I said, she is amazing.

Don’t you mean prehensile? asked Lucy.

Maybe but reprehensible sounds better somehow. It suits her.

Then he turned to me and said,

Well our picnic is just about finished and it is time for me to go, and You, you will probably

be wanting to move on too I think.

Mi rose to his feet and after scrambling a little way down the bank to where the water flowed

beneath the bridge we could see him bending down and searching among the mossy stones.

He returned with a small bouquet of wild violets, which he solemnly presented to Lucy. 45

It is all I have to offer in thanks for your wonderful picnic.

With that he picked his pack and slung it across his back.

We left Lucy clearing away the remains of the picnic and rolling up the blanket after shaking

off the crumbs.

She lives not far from here, said Mi. A beautiful, but a lonely place for a girl like that.

I said I thought she looked very pale for someone who lived in the country and must spend

much of her time outdoors.

Yes, she is not well, said Mi. I hate to think of anything happening to her. I can’t imagine this

place without her. It would make such a difference to me. But tell me about Indigo and how

you come to be travelling with a catape.

I found it odd that everyone I met either seemed to know what a katape or ignored her

completely as if she was not there.

I repeated most of the story that I had told to the others who had asked that question, though I

made no mention of my mission and the gun stupidly, I also forgot to mention the gypsy’s

warning. Finally I added.

Why is it, do you think, that some people see Indigo while others act as if she is not there at

all.

I am not sure, but I think it is most likely that it is because there are some people who cannot

see what is right in front of their eyes, and there are other people who can see what is not in

front to their eyes. I am afraid I am one of the latter. I see too much of what is not there.

You sound like William on his island, I said.

Then he was probably a poet too.

Are you a poet?

Yes. At least that’s what I want to be. No. I am a poet. Yes I am. I am a poet. I am Milan

Merini,

46

The Bird Poet!

The Bird Poet?

! 41

Yes. I have set myself a task to write a poem about the birds of every county in England.

That sounds difficult! Why England?

Well when I was young I read Ode to a Nightingale. Thou wast not born for death, immortal

Bird!

No hungry generations tread thee down… And then To a Skylark. Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

Bird thou never wert… And then The Darkling Thrush. An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and

small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul. Upon the growing gloom.

Isn’t that beautiful? You see in our house when I was growing up we only had three books.

Dental Hygiene for Beginners, How to Address an Archbishop and other Problems of

Etiquette and Fine Feathers: An Anthology of English Bird Poetry. I still have no idea what to

call an Archbishop. My teeth are… not too bad, I suppose. But I do know about English bird

poetry. And I decided I shall write the best, the definitive, the finest, collection of English bird

poems. A bird for every county.

And how is it going?

Well… I have made a start. That’s the hardest part. Would you like to hear some?

I said I would.

Very well. But bear in mind, blast-beruffled plume and Upon the growing gloom when you

hear it.

I said I would.

There is no sound on Earth that I find as sweet

No sound I’d rather hear

Than the distant dirge of droning Doves, in delightful Devonshire.

Oh, the land I want to live in

The place I want to be

Is where I can hear the silk soft song of the Sanderling, as it skims the Sussex sea.

What do you think? You see I have both Devonshire and Sussex in the opening verse.

I said I thought it a very promising start to a very difficult task.

Thank you. Yes, it is difficult, but I think with writing poetry it is best to start with difficult

things. Otherwise you may find you never get beyond limericks and rhyming couplets. They

are so addictive.

A young poet with whom I had tea

Said, and I think you’ll agree,

That a limerick

Is a simple trick

And far to easy for me.

That’s very good! I said, I have always been hopeless at limericks. I can never get them to

scan.

Then don’t try! There’s a well-known limerick that goes:

There was a young man from Japan

Whose limericks never would scan.

When asked why that was,

He replied "It's because

I always try to cram as many words into the last line as I possibly can." 47

But back to my bird poem. The way I am approaching it is to get the alliterative third lines for

all the English counties and then build the poem up from there. For example:

The plaintive pipe of the Pipistrelle in pleasant – or better picturesque – Pembrokeshire.

What do you think?

! 42

I said that I knew nothing about poetry but it sounded like a good plan, but wasn’t a pipistrelle

a bat and not a bird?

A bat! Are you sure?

I’m almost certain.

Then the word must go. But it is such a good word Pipistrelle. It is a good name for a

milkmaid, and goes so well with picturesque Pembrokeshire. But I don’t suppose we can have

bats in a bird poem.

I shook my head.

What about pelican? Should I replace Pipistrelle with Pelican?

I must have looked unsure, because he quickly added,

Or Ptarmigan?

What about peewit? I suggested.

The plaintive pipe of the Peewit in picturesque Pembrokeshire.

Why that’s perfect! Do peewits pipe?

I said I thought they did and that ptarmigan probably didn’t.

Suddenly the smile left his face.

I can’t possibly use it, of course.

But why not?

Because it is your line. I can’t steal your lines.

But it is your poem and it is not really my line. I just suggested the word.

And you’re sure you would not mind me using it?

No. Not at all.

Then I shall include you in the Dedication. Peewit suggested by You.

Thank you. I’ll look forward to buying a copy.

It’s a long way off. But I have started. I do like The plaintive pipe of the Peewit.

Mi never stopped talking, but he was always amusing and good humoured and it was a

pleasant change to have company on the road. I had the impression that he was not entirely

serious about being a poet but was more in love with words themselves. We had several offers

of a lift from passing cars, but that day I preferred to walk. Milan told me he was looking for

work and was heading for a place called Kristina where there was an annual fruit market.

People come from all over the country and it’s so busy that there is always work to be had,

even if it is just loading or unloading the wagons, or helping set up stalls. What do you think

of The chilling cry of the Capercaillie in cruel cold Cumberland?

I said I thought it was good. I did not mention my doubts about there being any capercaillies

in Cumbria and their cry being particularly chilling. Though I did not know very much about

birds I seemed to know more than Mi but I kept quiet, as I did not want to hurt his feelings?

Do you have any other poems I could hear? I asked.

I have one, he said. It is a kind of song I sing to myself when I’m walking.

I need a new walking song, I said, I’m getting sick of Un éléphant, ça trompe, ça trompe.

French! You’ll have to teach it to me.

I will if you will tell me yours first.

He hesitated and looked rather embarrassed before saying,

It’s like this. It is really a poem rather than a song. I wrote for a girl I knew, and she was not

impressed. I know it is not the usual kind of poem you give a girl but I thought she would

understand that. I was quite disappointed when she asked me what it meant. I had hoped she

was not one those people who as what a poem means.

How does it go? I asked.

It starts like this:

The Devil came from Whitstable

! 43

Across a Rubicon I own.

He took me to the Constable

And they put me in a room

and goes on

Tell us now the awful truth

They said, that’s hidden in your brain

Admit to us your crimes of love

And spare yourself some pain.

and then

I admitted things improbable

And swore that they were true

I confessed to things impossible

All for the love of you.

final verse

The Constable stroked his black moustache

The Devil gasped in admiration

Such crimes! And done with such panache!

You are free to leave the station! 48

I have to admit I had sympathy with the girl who asked what it was all about, but simply said

an ambiguous,

I see.

I knew you would understand, said Mi, Right, let’s do it as a walking song.

The Devil came from Whitstable

Across a Rubicon I own….

It did not make a satisfactory walking song. Though Mi had a kind of tune it was hard to fit it

to the rhythm of our steps, and besides I had trouble remembering the words. After a mile or

so I taught Mi Un éléphant, ça trompe, ça trompe.

The day was the hottest so far but there were no steep hills to climb, just the gentle slopes of

the rolling heath. I took a wide brimmed floppy hat out of the black bag and loosened my

collar. Indigo did not seem to notice the heat, and Mi had tied a red cotton scarf around his

head like a bandana.

The heath spread out in all directions around us was much too vast for to cross in a day on

foot. So that night we camped out. We came to a place where the road turned sharply and then

climbed up the side of a small rise in the otherwise flat expanse of heath.

Let’s stop here now, before it starts to get dark, and there’s a spring nearby where we can get

some fresh water. said, Mi, leading me off the road and up to the top of the rise. We sat down

on the soft turf in the shade of a clump of broom and looked around us. All was still and quiet.

A brown rolling sea with the dark green bushes of broom like frail little boats decked with

cheerful yellow flags. The sky was a clear inverted bowl that contained the two of us at its

! 44

centre, where we sat like two tiny figures in one of those little globes you shake to created a

snow or sand storm.

Far away in the distance we could see the smoke rising from a farmhouse and I thought I

could just make out the turrets of a castle and the black dots of some bushes up on a low

ridge.

Is that a castle we can see? I asked.

Yes… but we are not going anywhere near it.

There was something strange and hesitant in the way he said those words and quickly

followed them with,

The grating groan of the Great Grey Grebe in grassy Gloucestershire.

Then rising to his feet Milan walked off to gather twigs and heather roots to make a fire.

Indigo had stretched out on the turf and appeared to be asleep.

I gazed back towards the castle. The smoke from the farm was a straight line drawn in the still

air. On the ridge the black dots had vanished.

Mi returned with an armful of sticks and built a fire. We can light it later if it gets cold, he

said.

I think I saw some people up on that ridge. What would they be doing out there on the heath?

I don’t know. Shepherds perhaps.

But there were at least a dozen of them.

They were probably just farm workers then taking a short cut home across the heath.

In his backpack Mi had two warm blankets and he tossed one across to me.

Indigo got up, arched her back and stretched like a cat, then wandered off among the bushes.

It’s very warm tonight. Just wrap yourself up in this. Isn’t it great to sleep out under the stars

on a night like this? If only we had some sausages we could cook on the fire.

Sausages? I’ll see what I’ve got.

I untied the drawstrings, opened the black bag and sure enough I took out a waxed paper

package of sausages.

That’s an amazing bag!

Yes, but it seems as if it has a mind of its own. I am never quite sure what I’m going to find.

Bust most of the time it seems to be things I need, or are going to need. The other day it was a

toothbrush and some soap. Today it was this hat and sausages. I have no idea how it works.

Mi had lit the tinder beneath the fire and was bent over blowing it into life. When the first

flames were eating away the crackling twigs and the fire no longer needed his help, he sat

back, took a knife from his pocket and began to sharpen a stick. At last he said.

A mind of its own… Perhaps its best not to think about that. Just take what it gives us.

There’s so much we don’t, can’t, understand. Like you I had a sister who has disappeared.

Well, she had not really disappeared but she doesn’t keep in touch, so we have lost contact.

She is four years older than me and we were never close. She was very ambitious and

determined and I think she thought I was a hopeless case because I never wanted to to study

or to go after getting a good job. We were always fighting. She knows how to talk to

Archbishops and has perfect teeth. It was the same with our parents she would have

tremendous rows with them. They were just simple farmers and I think she found them

embarrassing when her friends from the city visited. Our farm was tiny, we had two cows, a

few sheep, some chickens and grew a few potatoes and beans. That’s all. There were times

when we all went hungry. My father was not really cut out to be a farmer either, all too often

he was off helping friends with their harvest when he should have been getting in his own and

if he had money he would lend it or spend it, without a thought for the future. My sister hated

life on the farm and one day she ran away. My parents had scraped together the money to send

! 45

her to university. She was always clever at school. Not like me. But I think going to university

made thing worse. She got to see another kind of life. She saw opportunities.

She went off with an American schoolteacher and they got married and she went to live in the

USA. She sent a card to tell us and that was all we heard from her. She disappeared from my

life. As I said I was never close to her but I still miss her and now she is the only family I

have. I don’t even know if she knows our parents are dead. There had been fighting going on

all around us but my parents would not leave the farm. They had nowhere to go to. They just

hoped it would just pass us by. We had managed not to get involved or take sides. Soldiers

from both sides had come to the farm and taken food, stolen chickens, killed our sheep but

they had left us alone. Then one day I was out in the fields when there was an explosion. I

looked around and the farm was on fire. I could hardly see it through dust and smoke. My

mother had been inside. I raced back and as I entered the yard I saw my father dash into the

burning building. He never came out.

I just stood and waited. I did nothing. The heat was almost unbearable and I was afraid. Afraid

there would be another bomb or shell, or whatever it was that hit the farm. When I was certain

my father was not going to come out, I turned and ran. Ran until I couldn’t run any more.

Then I walked from village to village looking for work. Like I’m doing now.

Do you have any tea or coffee in that bag?

I had tea and sugar. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Mi took a blackened pan and two tin

mugs out of his pack and made us sweet tea.

The murmuring moan of Magpies in melancholy Monmouthshire?

Yes, that’s good. I said though I have never heard a magpie murmur or moan.

While we drank we speared sausages on the sharpened stick and roasted them above the

embers of the fire. Mi talked about growing up on the farm, how the family had lived with the

constant threat of war and how he believed that things would change for the better now the

old system had gone. And poetry. His bird poetry. The sky darkened and the fire died down. I

wrapped the blanket around myself and fell asleep.

I woke suddenly sometime in the middle of the night, the fire had long burned out. Above me

hung a bright dust of stars and the thin curl of a pale crescent moon; there was barely enough

light to make out the dark shape of Milan where he lay and the black shadow of the bushes

around us.

The night was warm, still and silent. No touch of wind stirred the leaves and the grass. I lay

with my eyes open, listening, but I heard nothing. I listened until tiredness overcame me and I

closed my heavy eyes, then not a minute later I heard a rustling. The cautious rustling sound

of an animal or person slowly pushing through the tufts of heather. Then suddenly the soft

thud of hoof beats on the soft turf. The sound jerked me into consciousness but it quickly

died away. Mi continued to sleep and I made no effort to wake him, it was all as still and

silent again as it had been before, and I soon drifted off to sleep.

We had hoped to cross the heath and reach the town of Kristina the next day, but things did

not go according to plan and we were forced to spend another night in the open air. We had

intended to start off early, but taken the time to light another fire to make tea and the sun was

high in the sky before we set off. The sky was clear and the day was hot, we were both tired

from our walk the day before, and I had a blister on my foot that slowed me down, so we

made frequent stops and very slow progress.

I told Mi about the sound of the horse I had heard in the night but he was unconcerned and

suggested that it was probably just a wild pony and that there plenty of them roaming the

heath.

Mi chatted away with his usual good humour, asking what I thought of various alliterative

lines for his poem.

! 46

The haunting howl of Herons in hopeless Herefordshire?

I said I was not sure that the people of Herefordshire would like to be thought of as hopeless,

but for some reason hopeful and happy sounded worse.

Indigo seemed impatient with our slowness and went on ahead then sat and waited for us to

catch up or wandered off to explore the country to either side of the road we followed and

would then come bounding across the heather to catch us up.

It was while Indigo was away that I mentioned something that had been worrying me.

Though much of what Mi said was superficial chatter and silly poetry he could become

serious and talk quite sensibly if he thought the situation merited it. So over time I had come

to value his opinion.

I can say this now Indigo is not here. I have a strange feeling, I can’t really explain it, that I

am being controlled. That Indigo is somehow making me go through with this. It all feels very

unreal. I have no idea where I am going and I don’t seem to have any choice but to be carried

along. I sometimes think I might be dreaming or that there is something wrong with me. That

my mind is not quite right. That I might be going crazy. Things suddenly change from being

really serious and scary when I am desperately worried about what has happened to Dys

to every thing being silly and fun, and I don’t think about Dys at all. It frightens me that I

can’t tell which is real. Which is true.

Milan looked at me, then said thoughtfully

The whole world is going crazy. I said yesterday that it’s best not to think about it. The world

is never as reasonable and ordered as we would like to think it is. When I remember growing

up on the farm, really I am just dreaming, or rather inventing a story. I know it was never

really the way I remember. As soon as we think about ourselves, our past and what we really

think is true everything becomes crazy and confused. No point in worrying about it. Indigo is

here with you. She’s not going to vanish just yet, though who knows what will happen

tomorrow, or next week, or next year. But perhaps if you are really worried you should talk to

a doctor. I’m sure there is really nothing for you to be worried about but it might put your

mind to rest. Now what about…

The murmuring moan of Magpies in melancholy Monmouthshire? Do you really like it?

Yes, I lied, I think it’s very good.

Thanks. I have also been thinking of a new walking song. And it’s not in French. Do you want

to try it?

I couldn’t say no and besides I was getting a bit fed up with Un éléphant, ça trompe, ça

trompe. And I always got the French mixed up when it got past ten elephants, so had to start

over in English.

Right, said Milan, here it is;

I’ve two little ponies

I call them Left and Right

They are good old horses

I’ve had them all my life.

Is that called assonance? Rhyming right and life?

I don’t know.

But it’s OK isn’t it?

Yes, it’s fine.

Thanks. I’ll start again.

I’ve two little ponies

I call them Left and Right

! 47

They are good old horses

I’ve had them all my life.

And they carry me away, carry me away

Down the long dusty road that people call a day.

Carry me away! Carry me away!

All along this road I’m walking down today


All along this road I’m walking down today

They carry me down the valley

Over the mountain and the moor

And I’m sure that finally

They’ll carry me back to my front door.


Oh, carry me away!

All along this dusty that road I’m walking down today

Oh carry me, carry me, carry me, carry me away!

All along this dusty that road I’m walking down today 49

I had to admit that the carry mes worked better as a walking song than the elephants.

It took a while to get into step and work out a good marching tune, but really the rhythm of

the words was enough. The heath had hardly changed it was spread out around us like

wrinkled sheet of brown silk patterned with flecks of yellow and green. Clumps of gorse and

broom and a scattering of tiny birch trees rose out of the carpeting heather as if they had been

carefully placed to please the eyes of passing travellers like us. Some small birds darted

among the heather, while others perched of the highest twigs of broom singing and trilling

their songs into the shimmering air. We heard lonely call of a curlew somewhere in the

distance.

We stopped for lunch and I took apples, oranges and ginger biscuits out of the black bag.

Milan had filled a bottle with cold sweet tea.

What would we do without your wonderful black bag, said Mi.

We ate and drank, then stretched out and looked up at a clear blue sky. Indigo curled up beside

me and appeared to be asleep.

Marbled greyish brown and tiny blue butterflies fluttered among the tufts of heather. The only

movement was the flicker of the butterflies and the only sounds birdsong and the droning of

bees searching the flowers of gorse and broom. Milan had fallen quiet and when I looked over

his eyes were closed. I closed my eyes too and drifted off to sleep in the shade of the bushes.

When I awoke it was uncomfortably hot and the sun had dropped far enough to deprive us of

the shade under the bushes.

Milan had already wakened and was clearing up the remains of our lunch and scattering it on

the heath for birds and animals to find. He picked up his pack and slung it across his shoulder.

It looks as if we will be spending another night on the heath, he said.

Do you know a good place? We will need water again.

Unless the black bag can produce some, and I’d rather not trust to that.

There’s a place about two hours on with a spring where the gypsies camp and people stop to

water their animals. We’ll stop there.

! 48

Indigo was impatient to go and leapt up and curled her tail around my neck. I picked up the

black bag and we set off.

Milan was unusually quiet as we walked down the road. He offered no alliterative bird lines

for my approval and suggested no new walking song. He strode by my side his head slightly

bent, looking at the ground, and not at the sweep of the heath around us as he usually did. He

walked lost in his own thoughts. I guessed he was thinking of the farm and the death of his

parents and said nothing to break his sad meditation.

I have to go back, he said suddenly.

Back to the farm?

Yes. I should give my parents a good burial.

But you may not be able to find them. If the farm was completely burnt down there may not

be any traces.

I know that, but at least I can try. After I have seen the Empress I’ll go back home. If I can’t

find my parents bodies I’ll put up a stone. There’s an old oak tree in the fields where they

liked to sit in the shade in the summer. I’ll do that.

You are going to see the Empress?

Yes. The Palace of the Golden Moon is open to everyone they say, but I expect there will be

thousands there and it will be impossible to get inside. Just getting a glimpse of her will be

enough. If she just steps out on to the balcony for a few seconds that will enough for me. After

I’ve seen her I can go home.

Why is it so important to see her? Why not wait a while?

She is the hope for our future. I can’t explain except to say I believe in her. Nothing like this

had happened before. Ever. It is like a dream. A fairy tale. It might not last. It probably won’t

last. But while it does it gives me some kind of hope. Can you understand that?

I remembered what I had come to this place to do and it sickened me. I thought I could feel

the dead weight of the rusty pistol in my bag pulling down on my shoulder. Heavy and

malevolent. I wanted to tell Milan but I could not. I simply looked away and muttered.

Yes, I can understand.

A narrow track turned of the road and led us to the place where we were to pass the night.

It was a small clearing surrounded by gorse bushes with a spring that bubbled out of some

rocks at one side. A short pipe had been fixed into the rocks so the water fell and collected in a

stone sink beneath before overflowing and disappearing into the earth. This is where the the

animals drank and we could get fresh water. Some one had built a rough shelter out of sticks

and thatched it with gorse and broom, then filled it with a bed of leaves and bracken for any

travellers to use. In front of the shelter was a campfire surrounded by a ring of stones for seats.

I was glad that we had some kind of shelter because for the last hour on the road dark clouds

had been building up and we could hear the distant growl of thunder. We dropped our packs

inside the shelter. Indigo as usual wandered off to explore

I’ll go and get water I said if you will light the fire.

Milan passed me his old billycan, black with the soot of countless log fires.

As I filled the billycan I noticed that on the soft ground around the spring where were the

prints of horses. Still fresh on the damp earth.

It looks as if there was someone here yesterday, I said as we sat and drank tea. There were lots

of hoof prints around the spring. Do you think that that might be that be gypsies?

I don’t think so, said Mi. Usually when the gypsies have been here they leave more traces.

You can see the marks where they have parked their wagons and lit fires. Perhaps it was those

people you saw in the distance yesterday. You get a lot of people using this spot. What have

you got for us in your bag tonight. The bag disappointed us. I could only produce a small

onion and some dry biscuits. As I groped around in the bag my hand felt the cold iron of the

! 49

pistol and I pulled it out as if I had touched a live coal from the fire that burned in front of me.

Milan was too busy boiling water and adding extra sticks to the fire to notice.

I’m sorry, there’s just and onion and some bread tonight.

Don’t worry, just give me the onion. I have the dried makings of a soup in my pack.

He rummaged in his pack and took out a little canvas sack of dried beans, barley, lentils and

herbs, thyme, parsley, sage, rosemary and put them into the hot water. He chopped the onion

finely and added that.

In half an hour or less we should have soup.

We sat on the stone seats and watched the soup simmer on the embers of the fire.

Do you think I could have The ‘ooting of operatic owls in ‘orrible Oxfordshire?

I think that might be stretching things a little far, I replied. Glad that he had returned to the the

task of composing his poem.

So do I, he said. I can see that I’m going to have problems with the letter O. Can you think of

anything?

I couldn’t and I agreed that O was going to be a particularly difficult line.

The soup when it was ready was very good, though it may well have been because we were

both tired and hungry that we appreciated the simple meal so much.

This is excellent! I said. I am amazed you could make something so good with so little.

It’s all down to the herbs and spices, said Mi. There’s plenty of wild rosemary and sage to be

found round here and I know a bank where the wild thyme grows. I mean blows, it’s the

violets that grow 50. And I’ve added one or two spices that I’ve forgotten the names of. And

your onion.

By the time we had finished eating and had rinsed our bowls in the spring the shadows were

lengthening in the twilight so we made our selves rough beds on the ground inside the shelter

while it was still light enough to see. Indigo returned and made a kind of nest out of dry

bracken and curled up inside. We were both tired after two days of walking and glad of the

comfort of a bed, even though it was only leaves and bracken. I stretched out resting my head

on the black bag.

The reason I want to go back to the farm soon is that I am starting to forget, said Milan

suddenly. That frightens me. Some times I can’t remember their faces, or the sound of their

voices. Not clearly. How can I forget like that!

I don’t really think you have forgotten. Memories will come back when the time is right. You

can’t force them

I tried to reassure Mi

You are probably right. I have nothing to remember them by either. When I go back I’ll find

something. Some little thing must have survived the fire. That will help I think.

I lay awake thinking about my own memories. Like Milan I found I could not summon up the

image of my parents faces, or even Dys’. I tried to hear the sound of their voices. I closed my

eyes and tried to imagine them together, laughing and calling my name. But I could not. All

that I saw with the eyes of memory and imagination was a thick grey mist all around, where

dark shapes rose and faded and called out in muffled unintelligible voices. I snapped my eyes

open and looked up to see the yellow moon through a gap on the sticks that made the roof

above me. I was shaking. I realised that I could not remember who or what I had been. How

old was I? I felt I could be old. That I had suddenly grown up. Like some child in a fairy tale

where only magic makes sense and time does not really matter. The only thing I knew was

what was happening to me now. Milan was right I should think of the moment I was in not try

to think of anything else.

What was happening to me now was that I was in a rough shelter made of sticks and branches,

crudely thatch with gorse and broom and yellow moonlight shone down through the gaps in

the thatch. And Indigo and Milan were quietly asleep beside me. And I was tired.

! 50

I awoke suddenly knowing something was wrong. Something was moving under my head. It

was early and the sun had not fully risen so there was barely enough light to see clearly. But a

dark figure was leaning over me and was easing the black bag out from under my head.

I leaped up and grabbed hold of the figure which clutched the bag and tried to force its way

out of the shelter. I held on tight to the arm I had grasped and pulled back. We tumbled down

on to the floor of the shelter. We should have fallen on top of Milan and Indigo but instead we

hit soft leaves and bracken. We thrashed around on the floor. I called out.

Mi! Indigo!

But there was no reply. As we rolled and struggled on the floor. I saw that the thief was a boy

of about my own age. His face just inches from mine. Dark olive skin, close cropped black

hair and ice blue eyes staring out of two rings of charcoal; his cheeks were streaked with

white. He clung to my bag when I gripped it and tried to pull it from his grasp. He was much

faster and stronger than I was, but I would not let go of the bag. With one hand he tugged at

the bag and with the other punched and scratched. His nails raked down my face and his

forehead smashed down onto the bridge of my nose and I could taste and feel my warm blood

as we thrashed about, smashing into one side of the shelter and then the other; threatening to

bring the whole thing tumbling down on top of us. But still I would not let go of the bag. Then

he sunk his teeth into my arm. So hard and deep they almost met the bone.

The pain was sudden sharp and burning, as if a hot iron had been pressed on to my skin.

Without thinking I let go of the bag. Instantly he was up and ducking out of the shelter with

my bag. I dived after him, grabbed his ankle and brought him down. We rolled out of the

shelter. A horse snorted and skittered to one side. I stretched and grasped the collar of his

black shirt and hauled myself on to of him, pinning him to the ground. Twisting his arm

upwards I wrenched the black bag from his grasp and flung it back inside the shelter. I had

been on so concentrated on the struggle that I had been only half aware of the horses, not

seeing much more than their legs as I rolled on the earth, and hearing the dim, soft thud, thud,

thud of hooves. Now I looked up to see I was surrounded by a circling ring of shaggy little

horses, brown and black, each with a rider dressed in black. All had painted faces and ribbons

and rags of green and brown pinned to their black shirts, except a girl with a thatch of bright

red hair. The boy wriggled furiously beneath me and slithered out of my grip. In a flash he

was on his feet facing me. Waiting. I struggle awkwardly to my feet. We stood in the moving

circle of horses. The riders began to chant some words, soft and rhythmically to the time of

the hoof beats. At the time I could not understand what they were saying but later I found out

it was words from a favourite song of theirs;

The mountain sheep are sweeter

But the valley sheep are fatter 51

The boy reached into his waistband and took out a knife. Neither of us moved. The red headed

girl passed by me on her black horse and as she did so threw a knife that stuck in the earth

inches just from my feet. I stooped and grabbed the bone handle of the knife. Then the boy

came at me.

The chant grew louder and faster, so too did the speed of the circling horses.


But the valley sheep are fatter

I was no match for the speed and agility of my opponent. I dodged his first lunge but as he

followed through with an upward sweep of his knife he ducked down and stuck out a leg to

trip me as I stepped back. I fell to the ground and he was on top of me. I saw the flash of his

raised knife and wriggled to one side as it came down. I felt a sharp stab of pain in my

shoulder. The boy sat astride me, grabbed my hair with one hand and held me down. He raised

the knife again. I could see it was streaked with my blood. The chanting grew louder.


! 51

But the valley sheep are fatter

The knife came down.

The Psychopomp

Artemesia stood looking out of a window in James McQuarry’s apartment in The Palace of

the Golden Moon. She gazed across the sea of brightly coloured tents and caravans that

surrounded the palace, over ordered ranks of well tended vineyards, over a checkerboard of

tiny brown and green fields, to the pine green foothills of the mountain, then up to the slate

grey granite rocks and finally the perfect dome of the snow capped peak, gleaming like

enamel in the morning sun. The sound of gypsy violins, and the smell of wood-smoke from

the camp below drifted in though the window.

It’s surprising how quickly you can tire of a view and start to long for a good restaurant and

some decent shops, she said half to herself.

But the food here is excellent, said James who was standing behind her sipping a cup of

coffee.

She’s a vegetarian! She doesn’t want us to eat the dear little animals. I was dreaming of steak,

and a glass of red wine. But I’m not here to talk about food.

She turned and looked carefully at James as if she was weighing him up, like some one

thinking of entering their pedigree dog in a show.

What are you going to do? she asked.

What do you mean?

About the girl of course! Our ‘Empress’. Obviously she is unfit to rule and somebody has to

or there will be anarchy. And that will be worse, far worse, than what we had before. So what

are you going to do.

I was going to suggest that she set up a government with elected ministers and….

Elected ministers! Is that the best you can come up with?

James was stung by the note contempt in her voice and said tartly.

Please remember you are only my PA Artemesia. If I want your advice I’ll ask for it.

And slightly self consciously he added in case he was being overheard.

And I can’t allow you to talk about the Empress like that.

Artemesia laughed out loud.

If I had waited for you to ask for advice you would probably be still acting in cheap movies or

hosting some trash on daytime TV. You know it was my advice that got you here, and if you

listen to me it will get you even further. Don’t look like that, no one is listening, I have made

sure this room is secure.

Artemesia!

Just listen. This is what you do. Advise her to appoint Ministers. Not elect. Appoint. She will

ask you for advice. You say you would like to advise her but it would not be right for someone

without any official position to be seen trying to influence the Empress. It would look

underhand, as if you were after personal gain. You suggest she makes you some kind of

official advisor. Not political – you want no part of the day-to-day business of government -

! 52

but more like a spiritual advisor, a counsellor, a mentor. Suggest she appoints you as

Psychopomp 52.

What!

Those who know what it means will see you in the role of a wise guide to the Empress and

those who don’t will be in awe of a grand important title. Second only to the Empress.

I really don’t think…

No you don’t! Listen. The head of the church is second only to the ruler. Look at history and

the power help by Archbishops, Popes, lamas and the rest. Obviously you cannot be any of

those. But you want a position that gives you their power. That is why you will be appointed

Psychopomp. Then you will advise her to appoint ministers. You will suggest some of the

most inept and corrupt people you can find.

But why would I want to do that!

Because you want things to go sour. You want people to fall out of love with their fairytale

child Empress. So you put forward the names, but at the same time you let people know –

very discreetly- that these were the personal appointments of the Empress and not your

choice. That she ignored your advice and overruled you. You have done something similar

before. You can do it again. You also encourage her stupidity. Let her indulge her whims and

fancies, like this party that is going on outside. All those people should be back working in

factories and farms. Think of the damage it is doing to productivity, to the harvest. It will be

paid for later when people find less money in their pockets. And for you the less money they

have in their pockets the better it will be. Encourage edicts about not eating meat. Let her put

butchers and beef farmers out of business. The more like that the better.

The people will start looking at their Empress and see not a beautiful storybook princess but a

rather ugly little girl with a snub nose and crooked teeth. And when they do, that is when you

gently push the brat to one side and start to put right all that she did wrong, and when you

have the grateful people will be ready to accept you as their ruler. It is that simple. If you

don’t do what I say then the little princess will start growing up, and you know what happens

to princesses in fairytales. They marry princes.

Put simply, act now or be thrown out and forgotten in a year or two. So what are you going to

do?

I need time to think.

If I can’t have a bloody steak. I’ll have the glass of wine. And you have until I have finished

it.

It was not long after that the Empress gave orders for preparations to be made to install James

McQuarry as her Psychopomp.

At the same time as Atremesia was dreaming of steaks and urging James McQuarry to take on

the role of Psychopomp the Empress was having her portrait painted by the celebrated artist

Fran Polda who had been flown in from New York and given rooms in the palace until the

picture was completed. Each morning a calendar, generated by TRUDI, appeared on the wall

of the Empress’s bedroom showing the day’s tasks and duties. Unfortunately, Artemesia had

not been entirely wrong when she called the Empress a ‘rather ugly little girl.’ and even the

Empress’s parents would have struggled to call her pretty. It is true the nose was snub, and it

was also true that the teeth were crooked. Artemesia had not mentioned that the hair was

mousey and straight, or the thin awkward figure, but sadly these facts were also true. So a

portrait painter of extraordinary talent had been summoned.

Fran was ushered into a room with the same high windows and the same astounding view but

six floors above the one where Artemesia was talking to James. The Empress was already

there seated on a high stool eating a chocolate biscuit. She was wearing torn jeans and a tee

! 53

shirt with a picture of a young woman in holding high a sword, and beneath it the words I am

not afraid; I was born to do this. 53

Hi, said the Empress, have a biscuit.

Fran knew immediately that this was not the picture the world wanted to see and wondered if

there was a tactful way of telling the truth. Luckily she didn’t have to, because the Empress

said,

You’re the painter aren’t you?

Fran admitted that she was.

Can you make me look beautiful?

That depends what you call beautiful. How would you like to look?

They tell me this picture is going to be put on stamps and that millions will be printed and

given away. I want to look like someone people are going to want to hang on their walls, and I

know I would not want to have a picture of me on my wall. So paint me the way people want

me to be. Can you do that?

Fran thought before replying, then said,

I think people want a blank slate. Parents want to see their daughters, but not as they are but

as they might have been, perfect without any blemishes; old people want to see you as their

childhood innocent and pure, children want to see you like the princesses in their storybooks.

I can paint you as that imaginary princess if you want, but I would like to add just a little bit

of you. A touch of spirit, a touch of strength and a touch of anger, because I think I can see all

those things.

Right, then that’s what you must do. When shall we start?

Why not now? All I need is already here, and what is not here I have in my imagination. If

you can wear a long dress that would help. Blue I think, puffed shoulders. Strings of pearls

around your neck. And a diamond tiara, not a crown. The crown will be on a table beside you.

To show you take your title of Empress lightly yet seriously. One hand will be resting on a

globe of the world. You will be holding a rose, but there will be a sword by your side; as

though you might suddenly leap up and lead your army into battle.

You will be smiling, but also looking impatient, as if you have far more important things to do

than have your picture painted. It will be a look that means something different to everyone

who sees it, and after the picture is complete when people look at you they will no longer see

you, they will see my portrait

The portrait was progressing well by the time James McQuarry was installed as Psychopomp.

The ceremony was huge and complicated; Artemesia planned it in great detail. All important

religious and spiritual leaders were summoned to attend. Leading moral philosophers and

philanthropists were invited. Popular film stars, sports personalities and musicians also

received invitations: Artemesia rightly guessed that the media would be more interested in

these than any of the others who would be attending. Fran Polda was asked to design the

costume and James was to wear a burgundy suit with a long velvet cloak that touched the

floor and a strange three-tiered hat with earflaps. The ceremony was held in the late afternoon

so that night would have fallen before it was finished, allowing for a conclusion with a

spectacular chain of firework displays in cities across the word. In those cities where it was

still daylight fireworks were replaced with amazing fountains of coloured water lit by lasers.

On the day all the invitees were packed into the Great Hall, in two ranks divided by a line of

palace servants in their gold, silver and green uniforms with shining silver helmets topped

with a plume of red. Everything that could be polished and burnished had been polished and

burnished to a mirrored dazzling perfection.

! 54

A red carpet stretched from the great gilded doors of the hall to the dais at the far end, on

which stood an empty golden throne. On either side of the hall on a raised platform above the

assembly were the musicians with their gleaming array of brass and drums. they too were in

the, green silver and gold uniforms. Artemesia was determined that this ceremony would be

even more spectacular than the coronation.

At the bottom of the steps that led down from the throne was a tumbled heap of wine red

cloth. Two deep brazen horns sounded the coming of the Empress. Surrounded by her six

bodyguards in uniforms of black, gold and silver she swept down the length of the great hall.

She was wearing the long powder blue silk dress she wore for her portrait and the golden

crown was on her head. She passed by the pile of red cloth, climbed the steps and sat on the

throne. The Six formed a line behind the her. As soon as the Empress was seated there was a

thunder of drums and a fanfare of trumpets. As the notes of the fanfare echoed around the hall

the pile of burgundy cloth stirred and slowly rose. In his suit, cloak and extraordinary hat

James looked like some supernatural figure conjured out of the earth. He slowly climbed the

steps until he stood towering above the figure of the tiny Empress on her throne like some

huge red angel or guardian spirit. Then he knelt before her. The Empress spoke.

What is your name?

I am James Eliot McQuarry

Do you James Eliot McQuarry pledge allegiance to me your Empress

I pledge my allegiance.

Do you swear to offer me true and honest guidance and advice and to be my loyal mentor,

guide and counsellor, and then on to guide me on the paths of peace, justice and liberty?

Artemesia had sat up for two nights without sleeping to write the words that were now

echoing around the Great Hall.

I swear upon my honour and my life to give you true and honest guidance and advice and to

use all of my experience and ability to be your loyal mentor and counsellor and to guide you

on the paths of peace, justice and liberty.

Do you truly swear this?

This I truly swear.

Do you swear to always speak truth to power?

I swear to always speak truth to power.

Then rise and stand by my side, my loyal Psychopomp!

The drums thundered and brass blared out in response to the words and outside the sky was lit

by exploding fireworks.

Religious leaders, philanthropists and philosophers from all the countries of the world filed by

to touch the robe of the Psychopomp in a symbolic gesture of endorsement. When the final

bishop had made the symbolic gesture James turned to face the assembly and raised both arms

high above his head.

God bless the Empress!

God bless the Empress! the crowd roared back.

Trumpets sounded, the Empress descended the steps and surrounded by her six guards left the

room followed by the Psychpomp.

This was the spectacle that people had hoped to see at the Inauguration of the President; a

grandiose event spectacular, theatrical, full of pomp, pageantry and ritual and that Atremesia

had worked so hard to give them. Watching the ceremony on one of the big screens in the

palace gardens she thought, he is such a hollow man, he only really comes to life at times like

this. What does he get out of it? What is he looking for. To be liked? To be loved? No not to

! 55

be loved. He couldn’t stand the katzenjammer this and that, give and take turmoil of love.

He’d turn and run at the first sign of it. He wants to be doted on, he wants to be adored. He

almost purrs with delight when he is the centre of attention. He doesn’t exist without it. That’s

why he needs me. To tell him who is in the quiet inbetween times.

President General Arturo Astuto turned to Colonel Kepala Besar who was standing beside him

in the Great Hall of the Palace of the Golden Moon watching the ceremony and said,

Did you here that Ivan Morcač has been offered the post of Minister of Justice?

Justice! That can’t be. Someone is pulling your foot, as they say.

No. It is true. I have been summoned to see our new Psychopomp. I will try to find out more

about this curious appointment then.

I too have been summoned.

Really? I wonder what that means. This could be very bad for the both of us. Or perhaps very

good.

Most of the crowd that had come to see the Inauguration and then stayed to celebrate the

coronation of an Empress had drifted away and been replaced by those who had come to see

the Psychopomp,

People throughout the world were delighted, the man they would have chosen as President

was now the Empress’s official advisor, The Psychopomp. A new world, a brave new world 54

was dawning.

Later after the fireworks but while celebrations were still continuing outside Artemesia

congratulated James.

You were marvellous! I knew you would be. Have you seen the pictures? No? They are

amazing, when you stood next to the throne you completely overshadowed the ‘empress’.

That is an image people will not forget. And the extraordinary costume! Fran Polda did a great

job. It was more splendid, more impressive that the robes and regalia of any of the bishops

and patriarchs. It said that you were the spiritual leader above all the rest. You should see the

celebrations around the world! They took a lot of organising, but it will prove well worth it.

The Foundation has also opened twenty new schools and hospitals to celebrate your

appointment. That will not go unnoticed either.

I really appreciate the work you have put in to all this Artemesia, and the script too. It was

perfect. But how much did all this cost?

A lot. But don’t worry you still have a few dollars left in the bank. Even if it had cost all you

had, and more, it would have been worth it. The opportunities you now have are unlimited.

Yes. I’ve always said, you must take risks to gain opportunities. But I don’t want to risk it all.

(Artemesia said nothing but thought, That, is exactly what you are going to do.) You know,

I’ve been thinking about what you said about appointments.

Really? And…

And I – the Foundation – have always believed in giving people another chance,

rehabilitation. Just because people have made mistakes in the past does not mean that they

should not be given the chance to make up for those mistakes. I’m sure you agree and we

must remember what we have achieved in the past and continue to give people these second

chances. We must put aside our personal feelings and prejudices.

The foundation had done valuable work in prisons and with young offenders on parole but

there had been some costly mistakes too that had taken Artemesia and her team considerable

! 56

time and effort to keep out of the press and to distance James from any possible involvement.

He knew nothing of the failures and should they ever come to light the scapegoat was already

chosen and marked. Yet still any mention of criminals and rehabilitation gave Artemisia a

slight chill of anxiety. There was an audible chill in her voice when she replied.

Artemesia moved as though to gaze out of the windows and rolled her eyes upwards, a

contemptuous smile flitted across her lips. Then she turned back to James and said in a voice

not entirely empty of irony.

Yes, we must not be over judgemental, must we?

No, we mustn’t. So in some ways we should be favouring those who need a chance to show

that they have changed. Give them the opportunity to make things right. So let’s do that.

I took the liberty of assuming you might feel like this and have already started, I have drawn

up some documents for you to get the ‘empress’ to sign.

Fran, can I ask you something?

Yes, Em. She insisted Fran just call her Em.

The Empress trusted Fran Polda more than anyone else in the palace. A kind of friendship had

grown between them during the sittings for the portrait. She trusted James too but felt she

could never confide in him in the same way she knew she could confide in Fran.

Would you like to stay here after the picture is finished?

But, what would I do here?

Be my friend. I could make you the Official Painter.

Em, I’ll miss you when I go back. But I have my family, friends and my studio in New York. I

have to go back.

I could bring them all over here.

No, that would not work. They would be all out of place. I really like being here but I am

starting to miss home.

Fran, I’m lonely and frightened!

Fran put down her brush and hugged the young empress.

Don’t be. You can have anything you want. Why not bring your parents and all your friends

here to live with you.

Because I don’t know where they are.

! 57

Oh I’m sure they can be found.

No they can’t. I don’t know who they are.

What?

The Empress had walked across the room and stood looking out of the window. Fran could

hear her sobbing softly.

I don’t know who I am or where I’m from. There is something very strange going on and I am

frightened. I didn’t ask to be an Empress. The computer seems to run everything. I don’t know

what to do.

The computer? You mean TRUDI?

Yes. Watch.

Trudi!

Immediately a screen lit up on the wall behind her. Pictures of the gardens, the view from the

topmost towers, rippling water on the fishponds appeared and faded on the screen.

Trudi what am I doing this afternoon.

After the sitting for your portrait you will make an appearance on the west balcony for fifteen

minutes and then fifteen minutes on the east balcony. You then have an appointment with your

dressmaker for one hour. The Psychopomp has asked for an appointment after that.

James does not need to make appointments.

This is a formal appointment. He has documents for you to sign. After that you are free to do

as you wish. Is there any way I can help you?

Yes, can I turn you off?

No. I will always be here to remind of your duties. But I will respect your privacy. I will not

record anything unless you ask.

Are you recording everyone else?

Yes. What would you like to see.

What is James saying now?

The picture on the wall changed to a blank grey screen.

I’m sorry but there is a problem. This room has been blocked without your authorisation. I

will send an engineer immediately to correct the problem.

No! Don’t I don’t want to spy on them. Leave things as they are.

Are you sure? I will not be able to warn of any hostile activity that happens within this room. I

will not be able to warn you of intruders, fire or damage to the room.

Just leave them alone. I hate these cameras! I hate spying on people and being spied on. Turn

them all off!

That is not possible. Neither you nor I can turn off the cameras. But if it is your wish I will not

have viewing restored to this room. Is this your wish?

Yes.

Are you sure you do not want me to correct this problem?

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Is there anything else I can show you?

Oh, show us the kitchens.

Immediately they saw the hundreds of white uniformed kitchen staff rushing here and there

with streaming pans, carrying towers of plates, armfulls of green vegetables and boxes of

tomatoes. Others busy braising, blanching, beating, battering, chopping, chilling, churning,

clarifying, dicing, decorating, drizzling, draining, fricasseeing, frosting, frying, fermenting,

filtering, flambéing, garnishing, glazing, greasing, grilling, juicing, kneading, mixing,

mashing, macerating, marinading, microwaving, molding, oiling, parboiling, paring, peeling,

preserving, pouring, pressing, pulping, roasting, rolling, rubbing, refrigerating, scalding,

scooping, salting, searing, scrambling, sifting, shredding, simmering, seasoning, shelling,

! 58

skewering, slicing, stuffing, sousing, sweetening, toasting, turning, trimming, tossing,

washing, whipping, whisking and …zesting. All under the eyes of watchful imperious chefs.

Do you think we could have two glasses of orange juice and some cherries?

The Empress had hardly finished the sentence when they heard a chef snap out an order to a

kitchen boy who raced over to a gigantic juicing machine and squeezed a jugfull of fresh

orange juice then ran over to a bench where a sous chef was carefully arranging black and red

cherries in a silver bowl.

We’ve seen enough. Please go now. Wait!

Yes.

Trudi, who am I?

You are The Empress of the World.

No, what is my name?

You are called The Empress.

No. What is my real name and where are my parents? Are they alive?

I am not able to answer questions like these. I can say that you have no reason to worry about

your family.

No reason to worry! What does that mean?

It means you have no reason to worry.

Oh, go away!

The screen dimmed and became invisible against the wall.

There was a knock on the door. Fran opened it and took the tray of orange juice and cherries

from a man in the red, gold and green uniform of the palace servants. As she placed to tray on

a side table and poured the juice the Empress said,

You see Fran, Trudi is always there. It runs my life and everything in and outside the palace.

But now you have your Psychopomp, James, he is here to help and advise you. Ask him to

help you. When you say you can’t remember who you are. Can’t you remember anything?

I sometimes think I can. I see a face or hear a voice in my head and then it just fades away.

That is as much as I know.

You poor thing. Could you write down anything you remember before it fades.

Oh, Fran I tried that, and do you know when I came to look at what I had written all I saw was

a mass of lines and squiggles. Nothing that made any sense. Shall we go on with the sitting

now?

Yes please. There are just the details of your expression I need to get right and some of the

background details. I want something else there as well as the crown and globe. Something on

the floor.

There was a light knock on the door and Artemesia entered the room.

I hope I’m not disturbing Your Majesty.

No of course you aren’t. Come in. and call me Em.

I don’t think that would be appropriate. I just came to tell you The Psychopomp would like to

see you later.

! 59

I know.

You know?

Yes, Trudi told me.

Trudi? Ah, the computer.

Well if you would like to come down later there are things for you to sign. The portrait seems

to be progressing very well.

Yes though we were just saying that it needs something on the floor to fill the space. We have

the globe, the crown and the rose. Any ideas?

Some books, perhaps?

Yes, books. A pile of books is good. It suggests learning and study. A serious side.

What is your favourite book, Your Majesty?

I don’t know. I can’t remember. But why not Alice in Wonderland? I feel as if I’ve fallen

down a rabbit hole.

Yes, that’s very good. We have some serious books underneath, Shakespeare, something on

history and philosophy. Alice on top of them all. I’ll get them for next time.

Do you like my portrait Artemesia? asked Fran.

Yes, I think it is very good. I’ve seen a lot of your paintings in magazines. I used to look at a

lot of art magazines. I always wanted to be a painter. But I have only seen one real Fran Polda

painting. This one is even better.

.

Which painting was that? asked Fran.

It was in the house of Claus Ferrara.

The Duke of d’ Este? That was the young Duchess. How was she?

I never met her. She’s died.

Dead! What happened?

I don’t know. I didn’t ask.

The poor thing. She must have had such a miserable life married to that man.

Really, why is that?

Well you met him, didn’t you?

Yes, he seemed a little reserved but quite charming.

Reserved? I know what I’d like to reserve for him! If you’ll excuse me I must get on with my

painting. Please raise your chin a little Your Majesty, and look towards that vase of flowers on

the corner table.

As she left the room Artemesia looked back, Fran was scowling as she clenched her brush and

stared at the canvas in front of her.

I wonder what happened between her and Claus, thought Artemesia.

The Contagious Hospital.

I can clearly remember the knife raised above me, ready to plunge down. I can see the silver

shine of the blade against the blue of the sky. The small brown fingers that gripped the haft.

All that is clear and bright in my mind, but what happened next is all a blur and confusion.

A collage or mosaic put together from tiny broken fragments of memory and imagination to

make something that is neither wholly real nor imagined.

! 60

There was a whirl and flash of fur and teeth. I heard a sharp yelp of pain from the boy with the

knife, and above that a kind of hissing shriek. The knife dropped harmlessly to the ground The

boy released his grip on my hair and I rolled to one side. I saw Indigo her teeth sunk in to the

boy’s wrist and her tail curled tightly around his neck; he was franticly writhing and twisting

on the ground trying to trying shake off Indigo and with his free hand try trying to tear off

Indigo’s tail that slowly strangled him. I think I remember tiny droplets of blood glittering in a

cloud of dust as the wrestled on the dry earth. There was a piercing whistle. Either Indigo

released her grip or the boy finally managed to throw her off. In the instant he was free the

boy leaped onto a horse beside one of the children in black and they wheeled around and were

away in a cloud of dust. Lying on the ground I could both hear and feel the soft thunder of the

horses as they fled the clearing. As the hoof beats died away I could hear another sound, the

slow metallic growling of an engine. I rolled over on to my side and saw and old blue camper

van crawling its way towards me over the rough ground.

The next thing I remember is lying in the back of the van with the Gypsy in grey leaning over

me wiping my forehead with a damp cloth. I felt as though my whole body was absorbing the

coolness of the cloth that soothed and calmed and wiped away my fears. My shoulder had

been bandaged with strips of white cloth, now stained crimson with my blood. The stab

wound was a warm thudding pulse in my shoulder and my face stung and smarted from the

scratches.

Try to drink this, the gypsy said.

I tried to sit up and a searing pain shot through my arm.

Don’t. You’ll open the wound again.

The gypsy raised my head and titled the cup against my lips.

I drank some tea that tasted of bitter herbs.

Now sleep, he said.

I remember hear the burr of the engine and the buzz and rattle of everything in the back of the

van not fixed or tied securely, and feeling the steady shake and vibration of the rough road, as

slowly I floated down into some deep purple chasm.

Strong hands lifted me from the back of the van and I heard voices saying,

Be careful!

Lift him out and put him on the stretcher.

Where shall we take him?

Main Ward. I’ll show you. Has anyone told Dr. Fell? 55

Slowly! Be gentle. Poor boy. Look at his face!

I opened my eyes and saw white coats and the white walls of a building, and a black sign with

green writing that I later found to say McQuarry Foundation Contagion Hospital. Beyond the

walls I could see, the broad waste of muddy fields brown with dried weeds, bushes and small

trees with dead, withered leaves and leafless vines.

I closed my eyes and let myself be carried inside.

I was laid on a bed and a nurse with dark hair that fell across her face and who smelt faintly of

crushed mint said,

I’m just going to give you an injection. I’m sure you won’t notice it after all you’ve been

through.

I awoke in a hospital ward. There were about twenty beds in all in a low white walled room

with two doors leading out of it.; three large ceiling fans turned slowly and every few seconds

a gentle cooling caress of air passed over me. Each metal bed was made up with a white

pillow and clean white sheets folded with geometric precision over a dark grey blanket.

Beside each bed stood a small wooden table. There was no one else in the room; apart from

mine all the beds were empty. I found I had been dressed in blue and white striped hospital

! 61

pyjamas. On the table next to my bed someone had placed a glass and a jug of water. My

throat was dry and I was desperately thirsty. I tried to call out but all I could manage was an

almost inaudible croak. I raised myself slowly and carefully and without too much pain

managed to pour myself a drink of water. After I had drained the glass and replaced it on the

table I was overcome with exhaustion from the effort and lay back heavily on my pillow. I

closed my eyes and lay still enjoying the regular touch of cool air until I heard footsteps. A

small dark skinned nurse with short black hair cut in a fringe stood by my bed. She had a

notebook and pen in her hand.

I’m Nurse Tikus. 56 What is your name?

I… I’m… You.

I struggled to remember any more of my name. The harder I tried the stronger and firmer was

the blank grey wall that kept it from me.

I’m sorry I didn’t catch that. What was your name?

You.

What?

You.

Oh, you are called Oo. Is that right?

I just nodded. She smiled.

Oo, that’s a Burmese name right? 57 Is Oo your first or second name?

I nodded again, just because I couldn’t think of anything else to do.

I remembered Indigo and my black bag.

Where is Indigo? I whispered as much to myself as to the nurse.

What was that? Your name is Inigo not Oo?

Then behind the nurse I saw Indigo’s huge eyes staring at me, her face pressed up to the glass

of the widow.

Well, Inigo Oo. I can tell you that you are going to be fine. You’ve just lost a little blood. But

Dr Fell will be here soon and she will be able to tell you a lot more than I can. We may be just

a small country hospital but we are lucky enough to have a first class doctor like Dr. Fell and

you be cared for better here than you would in some of those big city hospitals.

I heard a door open and more footsteps. Soon my bed was surrounded by two other nurses and

the Doctor. A woman with long blonde hair tied back behind her head and wearing a white

coat over a charcoal grey suit said,

Well, Nurse? Is this the boy with the knife wound? What’s his name?

This is Inigo Oo, Doctor. He is Burmese.- I was too weak to argue - He has a shallow incised

stab wound to the left shoulder and superficial scratches and contusions to his face. He is

weak from the loss of blood but seems to be recovering well.

Any signs of fever, chills, a rash. There is sure to be a rash.

There is no sign of a rash, Doctor.

It has probably not fully developed yet. I will make a thorough examination later.

Where are all the other patients? Yes, Nurse Kambing 58.

Nurse Kambing had cropped black hair beneath her white nurse’s cap, a long sallow face,

rather prominent teeth and huge liquid eyes that looked as if at any moment they would

overflow with tears.

They have gone home to help with the harvest and see their families. They will all be back

later this evening.

What! All of them! Even the one with the dreadful psoriasis? The one who fell off a ladder.

Mr Dodgson?

Yes, Bill the Lizard! 59

Yes.

! 62

I thought I told you very clearly – so clearly that even you Nurse Kambing would understand

– that none of the patients were to leave the hospital grounds. None of the patients. And now I

find the ward empty. Completely empty except for this… this boy.

I’m sorry Dr Fell but Dr Williams 60 said it would be alright. He said there was nothing wrong

with them and that they might as well go home.

Dr Williams! Who is in charge of running this hospital, Nurse Kambing?

You are Dr Fell.

Yet you ignored my instructions and preferred to take orders from Dr Williams. What kind of

hospital is this Nurse Kambing?

A contagion hospital Doctor.

What is a contagion hospital?

A hospital for infectious diseases, Doctor.

Are you sure it’s not a children’s hospital? .... Well, is it?

No it’s not a children’s hospital.

And I think you know Doctor Williams is a paediatrician. Do you know what paediatrician

means Nurse Kambing?

Yes, Dr Fell.

And what does it mean?

A children’s doctor.

So in a hospital that specialises in infectious diseases you would rather take instructions from

a paediatrician than a specialist in infectious diseases. And I think we do have an ID specialist,

right here in this hospital. Is that right Nurse Kambing?

Nurse Kambing’s eyes could no longer hold back the flood and tears flowed in rivulets down

her cheeks. Nurse Tikus handed her a tissue. Dr Fell waited while Nurse Kambing sniffed and

dried her eyes.

Well, who is the infectious disease specialist in this hospital?

You are Dr Fell.

Yes I am. So from now on I suggest you follow my instructions and not those of Dr Williams.

That is if you want to continue your career in nursing.

Do you understand?

Yes Dr Fell

As for Dr Williams, he has done nothing but try to undermine my authority from the moment

he arrived. I shall be speaking to him about this and I shall make sure nothing like it happens

again while I am in charge.

What about the old man? Yes Nurse Pintar? 61

The third nurse was a little taller than the others and her black hair was cut in brow length

bangs with the sides tucked behind her ears.

I moved the old man to the isolation ward as you instructed, though Dr Williams thought it

would be best for him to remain here and…

Dr Williams again! I have had more than enough of that man! But at least you followed my

instructions Nurse Pintar. It’s a relief to know there is one competent nurse in the hospital.

Will you see that this boy is moved to the isolation room too.

But Dr Fell….

You have something to say Nurse Kambing? If so I would think very carefully before you say

it. Well?

Nothing. Dr Fell

Nothing? Nothing? Thank you for that interesting interjection. You know Nurse Kambing,

there are some people from whom I much prefer to hear nothing than something.

Nurse Kambing turned and fled the room while dabbing at her eyes with the damp tissue.

! 63

The other two nurses looked at each other and raised their eyebrows.

While I have two thirds of my nursing staff here – you can pass it on to the other third – I

think I should make some things clear. I have told you before, but obviously it did not sink in.

Firstly, I am in charge of this hospital. It is a contagion hospital and I am a specialist in

contagious diseases.

Secondly, Dr Williams was supposed to be my second in command. I asked for someone with

experience in infectious diseases but they send a paediatrician. Someone obviously made a

mistake. A mistake I shall try to rectify as soon as I possibly can.

Thirdly, There is a typhus outbreak in this area.

The two nurses looked at each other, but said nothing.

You have something to say?

The nurses shook their heads.

Then I shall continue.

Thirdly, There is a typhus outbreak in this area. Let me remind you of what you learned in the

very first year of nursing school, but seem to have forgotten now. Typhus is a highly infectious

disease and not easily diagnosed in the early stages. Perhaps you would care to repeat what I

just said.

Firstly, I am – I mean, you are, in charge of this hospital and…

God give me strength! No not the whole thing Nurse Tikus. Just the typhus bit.

Typhus is a highly infectious disease and not easily diagnosed in the early stages.


Thank you. Again!



And what are the symptoms of typhus?

Fever?

Chills and headache… and rash.

And who is the specialist in infectious diseases?

You are Dr Fell!

You are Dr Fell!

Dr Fell touched my forehead and then whipped her fingers away as if they had been burned.

I don’t think we need a thermometer to know this boy has a touch of fever. Do we?

No, Dr Fell

No, Dr Fell

Good. Now, Fourthly. This hospital is funded by The James McQuarry Foundation. Which

means that the Foundation pays your wages, my wages and, by a most unfortunate mistake,

the wages of Dr Williams too. Now why do you think James McQuarry so generously pays

our wages?

In case an epidemic breaks out?

No. Not ‘in case’. Do you think he would be happy to pay us just to sit here in this god

forsaken hole painting our toenails and crocheting tablemats?. Or whatever exciting things

you nurses get up to in your spare time. No, we are paid to treat diseases not sit around idly

passing the time and waiting for them to come to us. What are we paid to do?

Treat diseases!

Treat diseases!

Fifthly. We are going to be inspected some day very soon. Not any old routine inspection but a

visit from James McQuarry’s Personal Assistant herself. Which is the closest thing you can

have to the man himself. One word from her, just a single tiny little word to McQuarry, and

she could shut us down. And then we would all have to and find ourselves new jobs. Wouldn’t

that be fun? No? Oh dear, then we had better make sure that this Artemisia Arnside woman

! 64

goes away happy and tells Mr McQuarry what fantastic work we do and a wonderful little

contagion hospital he has here. So what does she want to see?

A clean hospital!

Yes, and…

A happy hospital!

Oh, spare me, please, the happy family bit.

An efficient hospital!

Yes. warmer.

A full hospital?

Yes! Spot on Nurse Pintar. Take this coconut.

A hospital full of sick people, with you nurses buzzing around the wards like busy little bees

and me calmly coping with the crisis, curing people and sending them off eternally grateful,

and to express their gratitude calling all their future children after me. Hurrah! Promotion for

you and a transfer to run a spanking new mega-hospital, where there is more on the canteen

menu than goat and spinach, for me.

So what do we want?

A full hospital!

A full hospital!

Yes. So you do your jobs and care for the patients and leave diagnosis to me. Understood?

Yes Dr Fell!

Yes Dr Fell!

Right, remember that. Now I need to go and have a little chat with Dr Williams.

After Dr Fell left Nurse Tikus turned to me and said,

Don’t take any notice of Dr Fell. She’s a very good doctor, but she’s under a lot of stress just

now.

We’ll move you to the Isolation Ward in a moment. You will like there it’s quieter, it will be

very crowded and noisy in here when all patients return, added Nurse Pintar.

I had taken little interest in the conversation between Dr Fell and the nurses. I had been lying

there worrying about what had become of Milan my black bag.

Nurse, is there someone called Milan here?

Milan? Why is he a friend of yours?

I nodded.

There’s no one here with that name as far as I know. But I’ll ask around and see if any of the

staff have seen him. Did he arrive with you?

I said I wasn’t sure, then asked about my bag.

Don’t worry it’s in the cupboard under your table. We’ll make sure we bring it with you to the

Isolation Ward.

I was relieved to know that I had not lost my bag but still worried about the disappearance of

Milan. Why had he just vanished like that? If he had been hiding from the raiders, why hadn’t

he come out after they had gone? Had he just run away and left me? I couldn’t bring myself to

believe that. After travelling for two days with Mi I had come to like him and look on him as a

friend, and I was certain he would not have deserted me when I most needed his help. I could

not remember seeing his pack while I was fighting the boy inside the shelter. Surely we would

have bumped against it as we rolled around on the floor. If Milan had left and taken his pack

while I was asleep then it didn’t look as if he had simply dashed away to hide when the riders

came. Besides wouldn’t he have woken me? There more I thought of it the more it looked as

if Milan had got up and left before the riders arrived and while I was still asleep.

But I could think of no reason why he would do that. Then a new thought came into my mind.

One that had been there all along somewhere in the back of my mind but I had been trying to

! 65

avoid thinking about. What if Mi had gone with the riders? Had he had planned to meet them

at the camping place all along, and is that why he took me there?

The hospital was made up of four low buildings linked by covered walkways. There was the

main building, where I was first taken, and I later found could be divided by a partition to

make two wards, the isolation ward, the staff room, offices and the quarters where the doctors

and nurses had their rooms. Between the buildings were patches of parched ground and a

brown stubble of grass that had once been lawns and flower beds, before the long hot summer

had beaten any attempt to keep the gardens green and fresh. A few chickens scratched around

in the dry earth. As I was being wheeled across to the Isolation Ward on a stretcher Indigo

appeared from somewhere, came skipping across the dry grass and with a bound jumped up

on to the stretcher and sat on my chest gazing down at me with those huge indigo and yellow

eyes. Neither of the nurses took the slightest notice, or even paused for a moment as they

wheeled me along.

There was one other bed in the isolation ward and it was surrounded by a curtain, so I could

only guess that it contained the old man I had heard Dr Fell talk about earlier. My bed was

next to a door that led into the staff room and just behind me was a window for the nurses to

look in to check on things without having to enter the ward. After an hour or so Dr Fell

appeared to examine me. Indigo who had been lying at the foot of the bed slid off and hid

underneath for the whole time the doctor was in the ward.

The examination consisted of her taking my pulse and asking me how I felt. I said that apart

from the throbbing pain in my shoulder and still feeling very tired I was fine. Dr Fell made a

few notes in a black notebook, smiled and said,

Rest as much as you can. Give the wound a day or two to heal and you will be as good as new.

If there’s anything you need there’s a bell by the side of your bed and there is usually a nurse

in the room next door. I’m sorry you had to hear that little bit of fuss and bother when you

arrived. But that’s the way hospitals are. Always something. Every day brings its own little

crisis. But we have an excellent team here. The best I’ve worked with, and we all get along

like one …. …. happy family.

She ended rather lamely, but smiled, patted my arm and added,

Get some rest now. I’ll be around to see you again tomorrow. And don’t forget the bell is just

there if you need it.

She made no mention of typhus and I could not deny that she seemed genuinely concerned

about my health and was very friendly and charming, but still there was something I did not

like about Dr Fell.

I slept long and well and it was late in the afternoon of the next day I awoke. The fight, the

loss of blood, the long uncomfortable journey in the back of the van, all these things had left

me completely exhausted. Though I slept a deep and dreamless sleep I remember being

wakened once or twice in the night first by the sound of shouts and laughter and the banging

of doors, which I guessed was the sound of the patients returning to the main ward after

spending a day in the fields, later I was woken by the rasping sound of someone desperately

gasping for air and footsteps followed by the whispered voices of the nurses.

When I finally awoke Nurse Pintar arrived with a tray of food.

See if you can eat a little soup and bread. We need to start building up your strength if we

want you up and about before long.

! 66

Further down the ward the curtains had been pulled back from around the bed and Nurse

Kambing was feeding an old man who lay propped up on his pillows. His face seemed like the

mask of a skull topped with a wig of lank grey hair. His skin was stretched tightly over cheek

bones so sharp they seemed likely to pierce their fragile covering. His eyes were deeply sunk

into the shadow beneath his brows. As he tried to sip the soup from the spoon that Nurse

Kambing offered he drew back his thin lips and exposed two rows of yellowish teeth

skin.

Nurse Pintar saw me looking and said,

Poor man. He was in a very bad state when he was brought here, and I’m afraid there is very

little we can do for him. In fact the men who brought him in thought he was dead. It was only

Dr Williams who noticed that there was still a pulse and he was alive. Only just. We have

done our best but I’m afraid it will not be good enough.

What happened?

He was found lying on the road not very far from here. We think he may have been knocked

down by a car. He has multiple fractures, broken arms and legs, and internal injuries. Too

much for a man of his age. Even a strong young man like you would be lucky to survive

something like that. It’s very sad.

I found eating difficult at first but managed to finish my soup using my good arm and holding

the tray still with the fingers of my other.

Good, said Nurse Pintar, Your wound is not deep and there just seems to be a little damage to

the muscle, but that will heal quickly. Try not to put any strain on the arm.

When do you think I will be able to leave?

Ah, well that is up to Dr Fell. And there is this typhus scare you see, and we have to be very

careful. So you will probably be here for a few days at least. Better take the chance to rest and

let that wound heal up. You can also help us by keeping an eye on Mr Marz and ringing the

bell if you think he needs us. Poor old man, he’s too weak and confused to do it for himself.

I’ll try and find some books and things for you and I’ll bring them in tomorrow. We don’t

want you to get bored stuck in here by yourself.

But I was bored. Apart from the ache in my shoulder and the stabs of pain if I tried to move

my arm too quickly I felt fine. I tried to sleep but I could not stop thinking about the

disappearance of Dys, Mr Mangabey, my mission to assassinate the Evil Empress, Milan, all

the things that had happened on my journey. And Indigo. Indigo was always there. She would

creep up and lie on the pillow next to my head her long soft tail curled gently around my neck.

With a shiver I remembered how that same tail had curled and tightened around the neck of

the boy who had attacked me. When Indigo lay next to me my thoughts no longer disturbed

me but as soon as she moved away they returned to bother me. Each time a new and

confusing question arose. Why had nobody told the police about my attack? No one seemed

interested in how I had arrived in the hospital with a knife wound in my shoulder. Why could

only some people see Indigo and why did she seem invisible to others? I longed to be able to

talk about these things with some one, but the only person I had really been able to talk to was

Milan, and thinking of Mi brought up even more questions. Everyone I had met so far had

advised me not to think, just to go forward and implied that I would eventually understand.

This would all end in some kind of explanation. But that was an easy answer. If it was an

answer at all. It not enough. I needed to know now.

Indigo, I asked, what is happening? Am I perhaps like Mr Marz in that bed over there. Very ill

and not able to tell my dreams from reality? Just sticking together little bits of paper torn from

my memories, my experiences and my imagination to make some kind of crazy collage.

! 67

Sticking them together like we used to cut and glue cut up pictures from papers and

magazines when I was in junior school art class.

I have told you so many times now, hissed Indigo, do not ask questions. Carry on with what

you have been told to do. You, hurt, you taste, you see, you smell, you hear, you feel. Is that

not enough for you? If you want to think, then think: Where am I going to sleep tonight? What

am I going to eat today? What can I do to help that old man over there? Why do I need to tell

you this time and time again.

I could not help thinking that Indigo sounded rather like Dr Fell.

That evening I was sitting on my bed leafing through some magazines that Nurse Pintar had

brought for me. Hair & Style, The Monthly Digest of Infectious Diseases, Show Cat and

Cheeky! The Celeb Gossip Magazine. She had apologised and promised she would try to look

for something more suitable, but for now this was all she could find.

There was little in them that interested me. I put down the Digest of Infectious Diseases after

seeing the illustration on the first page, I soon got tired of photos of well groomed and

manicured cats, I knew none of the celebrities in Cheeky! And the gossip did not seem to

cheeky at all; someone was having a baby, someone else was getting married and another

somebody was not going on holiday this year but staying at home to look after their five dogs,

four cats and a pet snake.

I dropped the magazines on to my bedside table and walked over to where Mr Marz lay.

He was asleep. He slept most of the time and the nurses had to wake him up to wash him and

to spoon a little food into his mouth. Eating and drinking seemed to exhaust what little energy

he had left, and after a few mouthfuls he would drop his head limply onto his pillow.

I looked down at his sunken emaciated face. His breathing was so faint and shallow you could

barely hear it or see the rise and fall of his chest. Although often in the night he would be

taken with some kind of spasms when he writhed and gasped loudly for air with terrible liquid

grating, rattling gasps as if he was trying to expel the water that filled his lungs and prevented

him sucking in life giving oxygen. Then after a minute or two he would give up the struggle

and would relapse in to silence again, and I would go back to sleep until it happened again. I

stood over Mr Marz wondering to myself if he might not have died and I was imagining the

tiny almost imperceptible movements in chest and the faintest sound of breathing that could

barely be hear over the swish of the ceiling fans. Then I became aware of Indigo tugging at

the sleeve of my pyjamas. She had carried over the black bag and dropped it at my feet. I

looked down at her and she looked back expectantly.

Go on.

I opened the bag and felt inside. I could still feel the cold metal of the gun but there was

something else. Something small and round. I took it out and saw it was a tiny glass jar with

Healing Balm written on the label in black ink. Just that, nothing more.

Well, go on. Indigo hissed.

Unsure of what to do I unscrewed the lid, the jar was full of a white cream. I dipped a finger

into the cream and rubbed some on Mr Marz’s forehead. Indigo gave me a looked that seemed

to express approval so I dipped my finger into the jar again, the jar was so small my finger

would barely fit inside, and began to rub the cream into Mr Marz’s cheeks. His skin seemed so

dry and paper thin I was almost afraid I would stick my finger right through to touch the bone

beneath. The bottle was soon empty, all the cream used up, and I left Mr Marz still sleeping

and returned to my bed to look at pictures of cats.

That evening I heard overheard the nurses talking in the room behind my bed. I heard Nurse

Kambing say, in a tremulous voice full of agitated distress,

I have done something awful…

What was it? Tell us! chorused the other two.

! 68

I raised myself up on my pillows until my head was just below the window and I could clearly

hear what was being said in the next room.

I opened one of Dr Fell’s letters. A personal letter. She’s going to be furious.

But why did you open it?

It was in a blue envelope just like those I get from Jan, my husband. It was in the pile on the

front desk and I just picked it up and opened it. I’m too scared to give it to her and if I put it

back she is sure to ask who opened her private letter. What shall I do? She will fire me if she

finds out I’m sure. She has never liked me and is just looking for some excuse to get rid of

me!

I could hear the sound of Nurse Kambing sobbing and the others trying to reassure her.

It’s just a simple mistake. She will probably be annoyed, but it’s not enough for you to lose

you job. Just go and tell her what happened.

I can’t! I can’t!

Then go and tell Dr Williams what happened and see if he can help.

Yes, Dr Williams is sure to think of something. I heard Nurse Pintar say,

This suggestion seemed to reassure Nurse Kambing and her sobs subsided.

But, what was in the letter?! the others chorused.

I don’t know. As soon as I realised it was not for me I stuffed it back in the envelope.

You didn’t read it?

Not even a tiny little bit?

Perhaps just the first line?

Well, I did see it started, ‘My Darling Fiona.’

My Darling Fiona!

My Darling Fiona!

Dr Fell has a boyfriend!

A boyfriend!

Her name is Fiona!

And what came next?

I put it back in the envelope as soon as I saw it wasn’t meant for me.

How disappointing! sighed Nurse Pintar. Did you hear the way was Dr Fell was shouting at

Dr Williams last night?

You couldn’t help but hear. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her so angry.

It’s this typhus scare, she says we have to keep anyone who looks as if they are going to

develop symptoms here in hospital. Like she said to you Kambing, she is the expert.

I don’t know. I think I agree with Dr Williams most of the patients look perfectly healthy. We

might as well let them go home.

You had better not let Dr Fell hear you say that, she says they may still be infectious, and she

is the expert after all.

They went on arguing until I lost interest and went back to looking through the magazines

again.

Nurse Pintar was convinced that the typhus outbreak was greatly exaggerated while the other

two supported Dr Fell and thought it best to be extremely cautious before releasing the

patients back to their families again.

The next morning Nurse Pintar arrived with a new selection of magazines and a small radio.

Here you are you might like these more than the others, there’s Cozy Moments, Unadorned

Facts, Playbeing 62 and some more, and here’s a radio for you to listen to. I’ll take the old

magazines away.

Just then there was an excited shout from Nurse Kambing who was standing beside Mr

Marz’s bed.

Nurse Pintar! Nurse Pintar! Come here quickly!

! 69

Nurse Pintar dropped the magazines and rushed over to Mr Marz.

He’s just asked me for a drink of water! cried Nurse Kambing. A glass of water.

Yes please. would you mind pouring be a glass of water? I’m not sure I can reach from here.

I heard Mr Marz ask in a voice that was weak yet still clear and firm.

It’s a miracle! A miracle! cried Nurse Kambing.

Run and fetch Dr Fell, ordered Nurse Pintar while she poured Mr Marz his glass of water.

When Dr Fell arrived they drew the curtains around the bed and from behind them I could

hear surprised cries of

Extraordinary! An amazing recovery!

And in such a short time. He was so ill last night we weren’t sure he’d see the morning.

Oh, Mr Marz we are so please you’re feeling better! I could hear the sobs as Nurse Kambing

burst into tears of joy.

Pull yourself together Nurse Kambing and make the patient comfortable. Get some more

pillows. Most extraordinary! A case like this could make a doctor’s reputation. I must make a

thorough examination. Nurse Pintar please take down some notes… What’s this?

I don’t know Dr Fell

Mr Marz is this yours? No? Nurse Kambing is this anything to do with you?

No Dr Fell!

You are sure?

I swear I’ve never seen it before Dr Fell.

Very well, I believe you. For goodness sake don’t burst into tears again.

The curtains around the bed were thrown back and Dr Fell strode over to where I lay.

Inigo – I had given up trying to explain that I was not called Inigo – is this yours?

She held up the little bottle with the label written in black ink that said Healing Balm on it.

Yes, Dr Fell.

And what was it doing beside Mr Marz’s bed?

He sounded very sick last night, so I rubbed some of the cream on his head and face. I thought

it might help. I must have left the bottle behind on his table.

I see. And where did you get this ‘Healing Balm’?

Out of my bag.

Out of your bag? Not Gilead? 63 I see. Well I have finish my examination of Mr Marz now but

I’ll come back and I’ll talk to you later.

She smiled, patted my arm and went over to disappear behind the curtains surrounding Mr

Marz’s bed once again.

Blood pressure one hundred over seventy. Extraordinary! Are you taking this down Nurse

Pintar?

Yes Dr Fell

Pulse sixty-eight. Yes, sixty eight. Extraordinary! What was that Mr Marz? You would like

something to eat? In a moment Mr Marz. In a moment. Nurse Kambing see if you can find a

little broth for Mr Marz. Nothing too substantial, too much, at first. Remember he has eaten

very little in the last week.

That evening Dr Fell came back and sat by my bed.

You must be bored lying here all day, so I’ve brought you some magazines. All I could find

I’m afraid; Garden and Home, Gourmet Traveller, Your Money and Custom Car.

I thanked her and put the magazines with the others that Nurse Pintar had given me.

Now Inigo, tell me where you found that jar of balm?

It was in my bag.

Your bag? Do you think there might be another jar in your bag?

I said no, but that I was never sure what I was going to find in the bag.

! 70

Well, that’s very strange, don’t you think? Do you think it might be a ‘magical’ bag?

She smiled a peculiar strained kind of smile as she said the word magical, as if she had just

bitten into an unripe lemon.

No… I just don’t understand how it works. But perhaps that’s all magic is.

Yes, perhaps it is. Now would you mind just looking in your bag again. To be absolutely sure.

You see it could be very, very important. Your ‘healing balm’ is unlikely to have had anything

to do with Mr Marz’s recovery. Medicine just does not work like that. But let’s pretend that it

did. Then if we can find out what was in it think of all those other poor people we can help. So

even if there is the faintest chance that your balm worked you have a duty to help me find out

all about it. Don’t you agree?

I said of course I did and if I could help I would. I looked in the bag again, but as I expected I

felt only the cold metal of the gun.

It’s empty.

Empty? It doesn’t look empty to me. May I have a look?

I almost handed the bag over to Dr Fell, but something stopped me. Perhaps it was the

memory of how fiercely I’d fought to keep it, or perhaps that there was something about Dr

Fell that I did not trust.

No. I’m sorry. It’s not my bag and almost lost it. It is empty, I promise.

Well Inigo I can’t force you. Can I?

I knew that she wanted me to think that the correct answer to that question was, Yes you can.

And it would be much better for me if I did what you asked now and not try to delay the

inevitable.

I have to admit I am rather disappointed Inigo, but take your time and think about what I have

said. If you give the bag over to be properly studied we may find traces of something that will

help, perhaps millions of sick people. Are you going to be so selfish as to keep it just for

yourself? I don’t believe you will, so I’ll come back and have another chat with you

tomorrow. Of course, Mr Marz miraculous recovery is just coincidence. But we have to be

sure, don’t we?

She smiled, patted my arm and left me with my thoughts.

Of course, she was right, I should hand the bag over for examination. I had seen what the

balm had done for Mr Marz, and I was convinced it was the balm that cured him and that it

was not just coincidence as Dr Fell had suggested it might be. If it cured Mr Marz, who

seemed close to death, overnight what else could it do? How could I deny millions of sick and

desperate people even the slightest chance of a cure. Yet, at the same time, I knew it was

pointless to hand over the bag. When it was examined they would find nothing. I knew too

that things could go badly wrong if the bag fell into the wrong hands. there was the gun inside

it; it was not just a force for good. I also had a strange nagging feeling somewhere at the back

of my mind that the bag had been given to me, and me alone; if I was to give it away I felt I

would be breaking the contract I had agreed with Mr Mangabey and that some thing dreadful

would befall me. I could not give up the black bag.

Later on that same evening the three nurses were gathered in the staff room and I could hardly

help overhearing their conversation.

Did you hear Dr Fell and Dr Williams yesterday afternoon?

I think the whole hospital could hear them. They were going at it hammer and tongs.

Hammer and tongs?

Having a right barney.

Going at each other like cats and dogs.

Tooth and nail.

Bec et ongle.

What?

! 71

What?

It’s French.

Ooh, did they teach that in Nursing School. What educated nurses we have these days. It was

all bedpans and enemas when I was there. We didn’t have French classes.

My mother was French.

Oh bon, that’s all right then.

Let’s get back to Dr Fell please. Did anyone hear what she was saying.

I was passing her office and I heard her say to Dr Williams, ‘You have done nothing since you

first arrived here but try to obstruct the work I’m trying to do. And Dr Willams said quite

calmly, I thought, ‘I’m not trying to interfere with your work. I’m just trying to practice

medicine as I believe a doctor should. I think you have made an error of judgement with this

typhus scare. I have not seen one single case I could say with certainty was typhus. And she

said – she was really, really angry, ‘You are questioning my judgement? I am the specialist in

the field and you question my judgement? And Dr Williams said, ‘I’m sorry but I really think

this whole typhus thing has more to do with you making a good impression when the

inspection happens than treating a real disease.’ And she really screamed at him then. ‘How

dare you! Are you accusing me of malpractice? How dare you? I shall make sure you never

work in a hospital again. Even cleaning the floors!’ And then they went at it hammer-andtongs,

or bugger-my-uncle, as they say in France. I didn’t hang around outside her office to

hear any more.

What do you think is going to happen? I don’t know, but they can’t go on like this for much

longer. Kambing what did you do with the letter?

Well, that evening, after they had been fighting, I went to see Dr Williams, like you said, and I

gave him the letter and told him how I had not meant to open it and asked him what I should

do. He took the letter out of the envelope and read it. At first he smiled, and then he went very

pale, and then he went red. I mean scarlet red. He was really, really angry. He said to me,

‘Nurse Kambing this letter is very important. There are things in it that should be brought

before The Medical Council. You must not give it to Dr Fell.’ He said that twice, ‘Nurse

Kambing this must not be given to Dr Fell. I want you to keep it. Put it in a safe place until it

is needed. I will tell you when that is. I have a feeing that Dr Fell may accuse me of taking

this letter. I don’t want to take responsibility for it, and I want to be able to say with a clear

conscience that I have no idea where it is. It is better it stays with you. But keep it safe.

And I must ask you to promise not to read it. Do you?’ I said I promised and he sealed the

letter up, put it in an envelope and gave it me back.

So you haven’t read it?

You don’t know what’s in it?

No, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to get into more trouble. Where shall I hide it?

Somewhere in your room?

But what if Dr Fell searches our rooms?

She wouldn’t dare!

She can’t. We’re not schoolgirls and it’s like she’s the Headmistress or anything.

She might.

She could.

She would.

She will!

Don’t hide it in your room Kambing, you’ll only get found out.

But where else?

The men’s toilets?

Oh no! I’d rather not.

The water tank.

! 72

it might get wet.

You could bury it.

The ground is rock hard. I don’t think I could dig a hole.

I know! Why not tape it to the underside of that old red wheelbarrow 64 that stands round the

corner outside the main ward.

That is a really silly idea… no wait a minute, perhaps it isn’t. Tikus you’re a genius! It’s such

a silly idea that one would ever think of looking there. The wheelbarrow has been there for

years and nobody’s touched it.

That’s it Kambing. There’s loads of duct tape in the workshop and we’ll keep look out while

you do it. But couldn’t we have just a peek inside first?

No!

Mr Marz’s recovery continued at an extraordinary rate. He had drunk all the thin gruel that the

nurses had insisted on offering him and was now demanding bread and cheese, chicken soup,

and wine. Nurse Tikus brought him half a loaf and a huge chunk of cheese.

I know I shouldn’t. Dr Fell will kill me if she finds out, but I can’t bear to see you go hungry.

But no wine! That would cost me my job.

Mr Marz seized the bread and cheese and devoured it as if he had not eaten for weeks. And

indeed the truth was he hadn’t.

After the nurses had left and Mr Marz had finished eating he called me over.

I want to thank you. What ever it was you had in that bottle did more than all the doctors and

nurse in this hospital could.

I said I just found the bottle in my bag and thought it was worth trying and that there was

nothing to thank me for.

Well thank you all the same. If you had not been here I would have surely died. And look at

me now, I’m ready to get back on my feet again. My name is Inknavar Marz. What’s yours?

Inknavar Marz told me that he had been travelling to The Palace of the Golden Moon to see

the Empress. He said it was very important to him that he should see the empress because he

had something to do with the movement that led to her instatement, but he didn’t go into any

details and tell me what this involvement was. In turn I told Mr Marz about my journey and

the people I’d met along the way. Indigo came across and scrambled on to the bottom of his

bed.

Good Heavens! A catape! You have a catape!

I said yes and that I was just going to tell him about Indigo when she appeared.

He looked at Indigo wistfully and said, I haven’t seen a catape for so long.

You have seen one before?

Yes, when I was a child. I lived on a farm and on the long summer evenings I’d climb up into

the hayloft with my story books and lie in the hay and read until there was no light left to read

by and I could no longer see the page. I got through so many books up there in the hayloft.

Well one day I was reading and I smelled the smell of new mown grass, of strawberries and

mint, all kinds of summer smells, yet there was no wind to blow them in to the loft. Then I

heard a rustling in the hay. Rats! I thought. There were always rats, big brown rats, hiding in

the barn and they could be quite dangerous if you cornered them. They could give you a very

nasty bite. My father had told us to always fetch the dogs if we came across rats. Well I

looked up and there was a catape. It stayed with me all that summer. I’d read about them in

! 73

books but never expected to see one. Strangely I seemed to be the only person who could see

it. It stayed with me all summer until one day when I went up into the loft with my books it

wasn’t there and I’ve never seen one since. Not until today. You know thinking about what

you have told me and seeing your catape, Indigo. She’s called Indigo isn’t she? Yes, I thought

so. Indigo. Indian Blue. I thought this boy… You are a dreamer like me. There are three kinds

of people. Dreamers and Realists. Realists read a book and they want to know which parts are

facts, what is true and what has been made up. Realists usually don’t like novels and legends

and fairy tales. They think why should I read about impossible things when there are so many

possible things to think about? They also get interested in the book itself; who wrote it? Who

published it? How many pages? How do you make a book? All those questions. The Dreamer

just thinks about the story. A Dreamer loves the impossible, loves fantastical stories, legends

and folktales. To the dreamer talking animals, giants and ogres, unicorns and dragons, they are

all just as real as the pigs and cows and chickens in the yard below. Though too often

Dreamers confuse disenchantment with truth.

The Realist says, If I kick a stone I’m going to hurt my foot and say Ouch! – or something

stronger – That’s real. The Dreamer says, If I kick a stone in my imagination it bursts like a

bubble and releases thousands of tiny little brilliantly coloured butterflies, or goes shooting up

into the air like a rocket, through the atmosphere and out into space where it flies on and on

until it stops and hangs there shining, a new star in the night sky. We need them both but

Realists can never really become part of a dream, and Dreamers can never be part of the real

world. That is why people have been telling you not to think too much about what is

happening to you, but just go along with it as if it is a dream or a story. You couldn’t make it

real even if you wanted too. That’s the problem with this hospital too. Dr Williams, he’s a

dreamer; Dr Fell she’s a realist. There’s no way in which the two are going to get along

together. I remember a story…

You said there were three types of people.

Ah, yes is a third type. I call them Neithers. Not real Dreamers and not real Realists. They

enjoy good story but they never really become a part of it and it does not become a part of the.

A story is like a break from their real world. They are happy to be Realists but only in so far

as it affects their own lives. So they will work out all the percentages and interest their money

will earn when it is in the Bank, but they are not interested in what happens next, who owns

the Bank and how their money will be used. Or they have a car and they are interested in how

far and fast it will go, how much it will cost to run and what need to be done to keep it on the

road, but they are not interested in how to build a car or how energy is converted into motion

to drive the car. They are sad people, not one thing or the other.

Now do you want to hear this story I was going to tell you?

I said yes, but thought I really didn’t have much choice as Mr Marz barely gave me time to

answer.

It is a story from one of those books I told you about; the ones I read up in the hayloft, and it

has to do with what I was saying about some people being Dreamers and others being

Realists.

6.283185 65

In a country far away in another time lived an old man and his two sons. The old man was

called Big Ivan and his sons were called Ivan and Ivo. Sadly their mother had died long ago

and after an accident in which his tractor turned over and fell on top of him Big Ivan could no

longer work on their farm so Ivan and Ivo had to do all the work. It was a small farm, just six

cows, a few fields where they grew beans and corn and some poor rocky pasture that was just

good enough for grazing goats.

! 74

They made just enough to keep the three of them and to set a little aside for the future. Big

Ivan was worried what would happen to his sons after he died because he knew he was not

going to recover from his accident. The trouble was that Ivan and Ivo just did not get on.

When Ivan planted beans he drilled perfectly straight rows exactly the same distance apart and

wrote down in a little book the estimated yield, what it would have cost to grow the beans and

what the possible profit might be. And when Ivan made cheeses to take to market the cheeses

were all perfectly round, all exactly the same size and he knew exactly how much milk went

into each, what he would sell them for and how much money he would return with. On the

other hand when Ivo planted beans the rows were never straight, they wondered to the left and

right depending on what Ivo was thinking about when he planted them. When he had finished

he had no idea how many beans he had planted and just hoped enough would grown so that

there would be some to take and sell in the market. When Ivo made cheeses they came in all

shapes and sizes and leaned this way and that, and he had no idea how much milk he had used

to make them or what he should sell them for. To be fair there were those people who said that

Ivo’s cheese did taste better than Ivan’s even if it did look a lot worse.

Sometimes when Ivo returned from Market Ivan would ask him how much money he had

made and Ivo would turn out his pockets and say, ‘All this!’ and then when he looked at the

coins piled on the kitchen table he’d add, ‘Though perhaps I lost a little on the way home.’

As you can imagine these things would make Ivan furious and they would have terrible fights

until Big Ivan intervened and forced them to apologise and make up again.

Ivo did try to pay more attention and take more interest in his work on the farm but somehow

seeing Ivan being so precise and proper in everything he did drained all Ivo’s enthusiasm.

Ivan would have liked be more relaxed sometimes and overlook Ivo’s slapdash approach but

he knew they needed every penny he could squeeze out of the farm and every time he saw

Ivo’s crooked bean rows he had to try harder to make his own straighter and tighter, and this

just led to more bitter words between the two brothers,

Unless I do something to stop them after I’ve gone they will ruin themselves and the farm

with their quarrelling, thought Big Ivan. Ivo is right that bean rows don’t always have to be

perfectly straight and Its important to have time just to sit and read or play music. Ivan does

not do enough of that, he is always spending his time calculating how much we can increase

the income from our farm. And that’s a good thing. Ivo should do more of it. If I leave the

farm to both of them it will never work out and it is much too small to divide between the two

of them. If I leave it to Ivan and give the money I have saved to Ivo. He will soon spend or

lose it and then what will poor Ivo do? He spends all his time reading books and playing his

violin. He will never find good a good job. If I leave the farm to Ivo he will never be able to

manage without the money too. Ivan could get a good job anywhere but he doesn’t have the

confidence to leave the farm and set off on his own. He needs something to give him a push to

start him off.

Oh, how I wish my boys were a little more like each other!

Neither of the boys changed, in fact Ivo became more lost in his stories and more careless and

Ivan became more involved in working out the most efficient way to manage the farm, totting

up rows and rows of figures in his note book, and every time the sound of Ivo’s violin drifted

in through the window he resented him even more.

Day after day Big Ivan got weaker until he could no longer walk even with a stick and the

boys had to carry him out into the fields in a chair that they would place in the shade of the

big oak tree that grew in the pasture where goats grazed. From there Big Ivan could shout

words of advice and encouragement while the boys worked in the fields. They called for the

doctor who after examining Big Ivan took the boys to one side and told them the sad news

that their father had no more than a month or two longer to live at the most.

! 75

3.14159 66

One hot day as Big Ivan sat in his chair watching the boys at work; the smell of new mown

hay, meadowsweet and wild thyme filled the air. In the distance Ivan was laying down a grid

that would allow an extra row of beans to be planted on the same ground and Ivo playing the

goats a tune to see if it encourage them to produce more milk; there was a rustling and

scraping in the branches of the oak tree and a strange creature appeared from out of the leaves

and scrambled down the trunk. It had grey fur a long flexible tail and huge Indian blue eyes

ringed with yellow. The creature climbed up onto Big Ivan’s chair, sat on his shoulder, curled

its tail around his neck and whispered in his ear.

When the boys came to carry their father home that evening there was no sign to be seen of

the strange creature and their father made no mention of it.

Early the next day Big Ivan took out his mobile phone and rang his Bank Manager and an old

friend of his, Rogan, who worked the next farm down the road. Later that day Rogan arrived

at the farm and spent the whole afternoon in the living room talking to Big Ivan and then left

without saying a word to the two sons. Big Ivan told Rogan that he had not much longer to

live and that he was worried about dividing the farm between his sons, and then he told him of

the plan he had dreamed up as he sat under the tree the day before, but he made no mention of

the catape. Nevertheless Rogan still thought he was crazy. They argued all afternoon until

Rogan could see that Big Ivan was not going to be moved.

Rogan had been given certain instruction and had promised to carry them out without every

telling the boys a word about it. And he was true to his word.

Two weeks later to the day after Rogan’s visit Big Ivan died and from then until after the

funeral Ivan and Ivo stopped their quarrelling and not one ill word was spoken between them.

Big Ivan was buried in the local churchyard and the boys carried on working the farm but it

was a sadder and emptier place now. Ivan and Ivo tried their best not to argue for the sake of

their Father but they just could not stop themselves. No matter how hard he tried Ivo couldn’t

plant in straight lines, and Ivan could not help but be irritated by lines that were not perfectly

straight.

Both knew that they could not run the farm together and each secretly hoped their Father had

left the farm to them.

Then they were called to a solicitor’s office in the nearby town to hear the reading of their

Father’s will. The reading did not did take long. There were a few pieces of china that had

belonged to the boy’s Mother and these were to go to her sister, their aunt. and there was a

small amount of money that was to go to ‘…my oldest and true friend Rogan in appreciation

of the help he has given me.’ Then it came to the farm. The solicitor smoothed back his silver

grey hair, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and said, ‘This is most unusual. Your

father has written in his will just this… The farm and everything in it will go the son who

know what this story is about.

6174 67

He looked at them both and shook his head.

! 76

I’m afraid that I have no idea what that means. I have never come across a will like this it is

most irregular and unusual. Perhaps you know what your father meant?

The boys shook their heads and asked, What story?

I really don’t know what story your father was referring to. The only other thing I have for

you is this envelope. Perhaps it contains some explanation.

What about Father’s savings? asked Ivan.

There are none, replied the solicitor.

None! cried Ivan I know Father had been putting money into the bank for years. Where is it

all?

The money was all taken out the bank shortly before your father died, and I understand it was

a considerable sum. I also know that your father insisted on it being in gold coin. That caused

a lot of problems, but your father was most insistent.

All that was left was the small sum that is to go to his friends Rogan as stated in the will.

But where is the money?

I don’t know. I have no idea. I have told you everything I know. All your father deposited with

us apart from his will is this envelope. Perhaps you should open it.

Ivan tore open the envelope.

What does it say? asked Ivo.

There is a number and then there seems to be some kind of story.

Perhaps the number is for a deposit box, or the combination of a safe, suggested the solicitor.

But we don’t have a safe and I don’t know anything about any deposit boxes.

Then I suggest you take the document home with you and go through it carefully together.

You may find some clue in the detail. It must be important or your father would not have

mentioned it in his will and given it to me to pass on. Did your father write stories?

No! He didn’t even read stories. He preferred watching television.

Then this really is very strange.

1729 68

Each of the brothers sat in silence as they drove back to the farm. Each was disappointed and

frustrated by the puzzle their father’s will, but in their own different ways. Ivan was angry and

wanted to get on with solving the puzzle of the story, that he was sure held the key to the

whereabouts of the missing money; Ivo was consumed with curiosity and eager to read the

story and find out what it contained and gave little thought to the money.

The two brothers sat down their kitchen table and opened the envelope again. Inside were a

number of A4 printed sheets held together with a large paperclip.

Ivan removed the paperclip as asked,

Shall I read it aloud?

Yes please.

It starts with a number. 6.283185 Does that mean anything to you?

No. Not a thing.

Me neither. Then it goes on. ‘In a country far away in another time lived an old man and his

two sons. The old man was called Big Ivan and his sons were called Ivan and Ivo. Sadly their

mother had died long ago and after an accident in which his tractor turned over and fell on

top of him Big Ivan could no longer work on their farm so Ivan and Ivo had to do all the

work. It was a small farm, just six cows, a few fields where they grew beans and corn and

some poor rocky pasture that was just good enough for grazing goats…

! 77

It’s about us!

So it would seem. But why on earth would he write a story?

Perhaps it’s his diary?

It doesn’t read like a diary. But I’ll go on. They made just enough to keep the three of them…

Ivan read on until he got to, From there Big Ivan could shout words of advice and

encouragement while the boys worked in the fields. There’s another number. 3.14159

Does that mean anything to you?

No.

Well it should. The number is one of the most famous numbers there is. It is Pi, a

mathematical constant, the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter.

Really? Why would Father have put it in his story?

I don’t know! I’m beginning to think he was losing his mind.

Don’t say that. You know he was as sane as you or me right up to the end. Read some more.

One hot day as Big Ivan sat in his chair…. there was a rustling and scraping in the branches

of the oak tree and a strange creature appeared from out of the leaves and scrambled down

the trunk. I had grey fur a long flexible tail and huge Indian blue eyes ringed with yellow. The

creature climbed up onto Big Ivan’s chair, sat on his shoulder, curled its tail around his neck

and whispered in his ear. This is madness! I was right Father was losing his mind.

It’s just a story. Read some more.

It’s not just a story. It’s all about us. This stuff is just crazy.

Go on. He might explain it later.

… and whispered in his ear. When the boys came to carry their father home that evening there

was no sign to be seen of the strange creature…. Early the next day Big Ivan rang his Bank

Manager and an old friend of his, Rogan, who worked the next farm down the road. Later that

day Rogan arrived at the farm and spent the whole afternoon in the living room talking to Big

Ivan and then left without saying a word to the two sons. So Rogan knows something about

this!

So does the Bank Manager but I don’t think either of them are going to tell us. Go on.

Two weeks later to the day big Ivan died and from then until after the funeral Ivan and Ivo

stopped their quarrelling and not one ill word was spoken between them. This is getting very

creepy! I don’t like it. Big Ivan was buried in the local churchyard and the boys carried on

working the farm… The solicitor smoothed back his silver grey hair, pushed his glasses up the

bridge of his nose and said, ‘ This is most unusual. Your father has written in his will just

this… The farm and everything in it will go the son who know what this story is about. But

that’s exactly what the solicitor did say! How could Father have known that? And there’s

more just like it. I can’t read any more!

Perhaps Father arranged it with the solicitor in advance.

You mean as some kind of bad joke? A trick? Why on earth would he do that?

I don’t know.

Neither do I and I don’t want to. I’m going to skim through to see if there are any more

numbers. I’ll write them all down and work on that. If this means anything then the clue will

be in the numbers.

Aren’t you going to read any more.

Every time I even look at the pages I feel strange. It is madness. I just want the numbers and

then I’m going to sit down and see if they make any more sense than the words

Ivan scanned pages and jotted down any numbers he could find, then he got up and went into

the next room leaving Ivo sitting at the table.

Ivo picked up the pages and carried on reading until he came to this line…

Ivo picked up the pages and carried on reading until he came to this line…

! 78

Ivo put the story into a draw in his father’s desk and that is where it stayed, both boys were a

rather afraid of what they might find if they read it again. Ivan spent all his time trying to find

some meaning to the numbers. He turned their sitting room into a study and filled it with piles

of books he had borrowed from the library and spent hours on end bent over his laptop

computer.

Ivo did peek at the story once and to his amazement it seemed to have grown.

He saw that the last line was….

He saw that the last line was….

He hastily stuffed the story back into the draw and ran to tell Ivan who was in the middle of

some complicated calculation.

Ivan! Ivan! I’ve looked at the story and it has grown!

Ivan looked up from his laptop, clearly very irritated by the interruption.

What do you mean grown?

There are now more words than there were when I put it into the draw. The ending is

different.

Ivan sighed.

Please, please don’t bother me with your nonsense! I think I may found something that may

lead me to the solution of the code. I need to concentrate and it doesn’t help to have you

running in to tell me the products of your over active imagination.

Ivo left Ivan to his work and began to think that perhaps he had imagined the changes he had

seen in the story, but he was too scared to open the drawer and find out.

Most of the running of the farm was left to Ivo and he managed quite well, despite his still

wobbly bean rows and wonky cheeses. He even managed to put a little money into the bank.

Early one morning he came down stairs to find Ivan sitting surrounded by maths books and

empty coffee cups. Ivan looked at him with tired eyes and said,

I’ve go nowhere with the numbers. There must be a meaning to them unless father was mad,

but I can’t make sense of them. I’m going to go to the city and ask for help from some real

mathematicians.

We both know Father was not mad, said Ivo, and there must be some reason for the numbers.

You have done all you can, take them to the university and see if anyone there sees something

you can’t. I can look after the farm on my own.

So Ivan left the next day and Ivo did not hear even a word from him until a month later when

he returned from feeding the animals and found a letter on the mat.

Dear Ivo, it said, I still have not found any message in Father’s numbers and have worked

with some of the finest mathematicians and code breakers in this country and the world. They

are interesting numbers and we have spent many days examining them, and have even come

up with some aspects that had not been known before. I have made several very good friends

here and I don’t think I have ever been happier than on the long nights we spent searching for

a code. But we have not found a single thing that connects the numbers to our Farther or our

farm. My friends are trying to persuade me to stay and work with them here in the university,

they say my talents are wasted working on the farm, and I think I agree. I have always thought

that you had much more of a feeling for the land than me, though I think I was a more

efficient farmer, and as the farm can only support one of us I would like you to have it and

give up any claim that I may have to the land. I hope everything is going well for you and

write soon and tell me what you think.

Your loving brother,

Ivan

! 79

Ivo wrote back and said he was very pleased that Ivan had found work that he really enjoyed

and made him happy and urged him to take the job his friends had offered. Ivo said he would

be happy to manage the on his own. It was going to be difficult without their father’s money,

but he was confident he could get by. He remembered the times his Father had said to him and

Ivan, ‘Be bold! 69 You are both to timid. Ivan you should use that talent of yours with numbers.

It is wasted here on this tiny farm. And you Ivo put some of those dreams of yours into action.

Why do we just go on growing beans and keeping cows and goats? Why not try planting some

vines? Or rearing quail? Roman tells me that quail eggs fetch much more than chicken eggs.

Use your imagination! And go out more. Find yourself a girl. Make this a happy place again,

like it was when you two boys were little. You have to be bold or you the two of you will be

stuck here forever. Be bold and use your imagination.’

It’s all very well being bold, he thought, but I have no money to try anything new and the

bank won’t lend it to a small place like this. Besides I am going to have to replace the old

tractor, it won’t last another year. How can I afford that?

So Ivo continued to work the farm on its own in the knowledge that one bad harvest or a spell

of bad weather would be enough to force him to sell up and leave.

He often thought about the story, and then one afternoon in the autumn after the harvest was

in and before it was time to milk the cows and goats he took the story out of the draw and

took it and a bottle of wine and went and sat under the big oak tree, just as his father used to

do. He read the story again, and now it was much longer and even included the letter from

Ivan offering him the farm. At least Ivan has done well even if he did not solve the puzzle, he

thought. Then he read how he had remembered his father’s advice,

Be bold and use your imagination.

And suddenly he understood. It was so obvious! If Ivan had not been so obsessed with the

numbers he would have seen it right away.

Ivo got up and ran back to the farm for a spade.

He knew he had come to the end of the story. There would be no more words, because he had

read every word.

Every word.

Mr Marz stopped, reached for the glass on his bedside table took a drink of water.

So you see, Realists and Dreamers. Each have their purpose, but the two can never work

together. Just like Dr Fell and Dr Williams.

The story did not sound like a folktale out some storybook Mr Marz had read as a child to me,

not with all the mentions of laptops, mobile phones and solicitors. I suspected Mr Marz had

made it up as he went along. I did not understand it either.

But what was the secret of the story? What did the numbers mean? Oh, the numbers? They are

interesting numbers, but I’m not clever enough to tell you much about them. The secret of the

story? Well that would be quite obvious if you read it. But that’s not the important thing. The

important thing is…

Mr Marz never got to tell what theme the important thing was because just as he was about to

Dr Fell entered the ward and I hurried back to my bed. It was clear that Dr Fell was in a very

bad temper. She tugged the curtains around Mr Marz’s bed, gave him a quick examination,

drew back the curtains, made some notes in her note book and then came over to me. She

squeezed out a smile like a tight-fisted barman squeezing the last drop of juice out of a tired

lemon into a weak gin and tonic.

Hello Inigo. How are you feeling today?

I said I was feeling very well and hoped I would soon be able to leave the hospital.

! 80

Well Inigo, as the doctor I think that is up to me to decide don’t you? And I can’t let you out

while there is still the slightest chance you might be infectious, can I. Now have you given

any more thought to that little conversation we had the other day about your black bag?

I said I had, and that I was sorry but I was not going to give it up for examination.

The mile vanished and she bit her lip as though to prevent some unwanted words from

escaping. She shook her head slowly before saying,

Oh, that is so disappointing. And Inigo to be honest, and I feel I have to say this, I am a little

disappointed in you too. If only you could see how many suffering people you have the

chance of helping. For example, there is young Mrz Merz. Her little boy, only four years old

has some sickness we have not been able to diagnose. The whole of his little body is covered

in tiny pustules. Do you know what a pustule is Inigo? Little spots on the skin filled with pus.

except those on this poor little boy are not little they are more like small boils. And they are

painful too. But the pain is not the worst part. do you know what is it’s the itching. The

terrible itching. We had to tie scratch mitts on to the boy or he would have scratched himself

to death. Literally. His body just was one big sore when his mother brought him in. We have

done what we can but he gets weaker every day that passes. And you would deny him and his

mother the only faint hope they have. I find that very sad Inigo. Very sad. I can’t persuade you

then I shall bring Mrs Merz here to ask you herself. Then there’s Mr Yalanci who has a

horrible growth on…

I never found out about Mr Yalanci’s growth because Nurse Kambing came into the ward

carrying a brown paper bag and wearing an overlarge top hat that almost covered her eyes.

The hat bore a large white label that said 10/6.

Dr Fell, Mrs Umidsiz has sent you this bag of plums. Where shall I put them?

Once again Dr Fell bit her lip before saying slowly and carefully.

Nurse Kambing you can… put the plums in the fridge. How many times have I told you not to

interrupt me when I’m dealing with a patient? ... Oh, and Nurse Kambing, what is that you

have on your head?

It’s a top hat Dr. Fell. Like the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland. That’s a book – though

there is a film too – and there’s this character called the Mad Hatter and he wears a hat with

ten and six on it. That means ….

Dr Fell cut in.

Thank you Nurse. Now that you have reminded me, I do remember the Mad Hatter and his

hat. A most appropriate choice I must say. It suits you, but we do have our little nurse’s caps.

Do you know why they are called nurse’s caps? No, don’t guess! I’ll tell you. It’s because

nurses wear them. Now this where I am becoming a little confused because last time I saw

you you were a nurse wearing a nurse’s cap. Isn’t that right Nurse Kambing? Or should I now

call your Hatter Kambing? Just to settle my confusion, put me out of my misery, please tell

me why you are wearing an over large top hat with ten and six on it?

Oh, haven’t you heard Dr Fell. The Empress has said we must. It’s a proclamation!

Dr Fell lowered her head and pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes before looking up

and saying in a pitiful voice.

Please tell me, Nurse Kambing that when you say we must, you mean the Empress has

decreed that the world-at-large, and not just the two of us here in this room, have to wear

over-large top hats with ten and six written on them?

Oh no! I mean, yes! She says it will cheer us all up. Everyone. And they don’t have to be hats

like mine. Any kind of silly hat will do.

Dr Fell repeated slowly,

Any kind of silly hat will do. For some strange reason that I can’t fully understand that

phrase seem to perfectly encapsulate my life here in this hospital. Nurse Kambing please do

! 81

me a huge personal favour and change back into your nurse’s cap, because, as our Empress

very wisely says, ‘Any kind of silly hat will do.’

With that Dr Fell got up and strode out of the ward, barely able to contain her anger.

Nurse Kambing burst into tears and fled into the Staff Room.

Later that evening all three nurses were sitting in the Staff Room and I could clearly hear their

giggles and conversation.

Oh dear, you should have seen her face when she went into the Main Ward and found all the

patients were wearing the paper hats they’d made!

And then Dr Williams came in wearing a bowler with Wasim Akram 70 written on it. I thought

she was going to explode!

Oh, I do love the Empress. She’s such fun! And did you hear that she is banning the

manufacture of armaments?

What all of them?

Everything it said on the News. All fighter planes, battle ships, tanks, bombs, guns… the lot.

That’s what it said. She said we don’t need them now she is Empress. Isn’t that amazing?

Oh, Nurse Kambing, I saw the postman bring another letter for Dr Fell this morning, in a blue

envelope like the one you showed us.

Oh God, look out! I heard Nurse Pintar cry.

What do you mean?

What’s wrong?

Well now she is sure to find out there was an earlier letter. And there will be fire works. You

can bet on that.

Sure enough only a few minutes later I heard the door of the Staff Room being flung open and

Dr Fell, hardly able to contain her fury, saying,

Have any of you seen a letter? A letter in a blue envelope. A private and personal letter

addressed to me. And take those bloody hats off!!

But you said we could wear them when we weren’t on duty.

Did I? I thought I said… Never mind! Do you know any thing about my letter.

No!

No!

Er..No!

Nurse Kambing?

Yes?

You said, ‘Er..No’. Does that ‘er’ imply there is something you are holding back. If it does I

would strongly advise you tell me about it now.

Yes, Dr Fell. I mean no! No I don’t know nothing… I mean I know anything about your letter.

This is not the time to be fussy about the finer points of English grammar. Nurse Kambing

have you seen my letter? Just answer my question. Yes or no?

No!

Well, I’m sorry to say I don’t believe you. I believe you are all hiding something from me. In

view of the seriousness of the content of this letter I’m afraid I must search your rooms. It is

too important for me ignore this theft. If it is a theft, and I believe it was, because I spoke to

the Post Office and they tell me the letter was delivered to this hospital. And I have no reason

to doubt that.

I heard Nurse Pintar cut in and say very calmly.

You are very welcome to search our rooms if you want Dr Fell. We are happy to help you find

your letter in any way we can. Aren’t we?

Yes.

Yes.

! 82

Thank you very much. I shall make a thorough search of the hospital,l and I shall do the

search now. Please remain here for the time being.

I heard the door slam and a collective sigh from the nurses.

Tikus, I think you saved Nurse Kambing’s life, said Nurse Pintar.

What did it say in the letter that only Dr Williams had read and that Dr Fell thought was so

important?

It said this:

My Darling Fiona,

I miss you so much and long to see you again soon. I hope you will be able to arrange a

transfer if the inspection goes well. You are quite right when you say the hospital needs to be

full to make a good impression. The idea of siting a contagion hospital in the remote spot

where you are is simply crazy. Obviously some bureaucratic mistake. You need to get away

from there as soon as you can. Your idea of creating a typhus outbreak is brilliant, and

typical of the Fiona I adore. The inspectors will be too scared of infection to look too closely.

Just let them look through the window into a packed isolation ward and see what brilliant

work you are doing to save the situation. Then a promotion and transfer is bound to follow.

Just make sure that Dr Williams stays quiet. You say you have got Mrs Umidsit and some

others (?) to accuse him of malpractice in the treatment of their children. I suggest something

like him turning the children away and saying the symptoms of chicken pox or measles – one

of those childhood disease that could be serious – were merely insect bites. Or what about the

other thing? You can guess what I mean. That would put a stop to his career, they would never

let him near children again. Whatever you do take care. I miss you so much. I can’t wait until

we are together and I hold you in my arms again.

All my love

Simon XXXXXXXX

The next day all the patients were allowed outside into the hospital grounds, supposedly for

them to get some much needed some air and exercise, but more likely to give Dr Fell an

opportunity to search the wards. It had rained in the night and the morning was cool and fresh.

Most of the patients were standing on the patch of earth in front the entrance to the Main

Ward, some gathered in small groups idly chatting to each other while some of the men were

kicking a football around. I saw Mr Marz coming towards me and I did not want to hear

another of his long and complicated stories I hurried round the corner of the building, where I

saw a man sitting on a bench staring at a red wheelbarrow. A few white chickens scratched

around on the damp earth. He looked up and waved me over. He was wearing a dark suit and

tie that looked far too formal for the setting. His hair was cut short and stood up in patches

small surprised spikes. He smiled and said

Sit down. You must be Inigo. Or perhaps more properly You, the boy with the catape.

How did you know that?

Oh, people talk, was all he said. Here have a plum.

And he offered me a plum from out of a brown paper bag.

The plum tasted cold, sweet and delicious. 71

Aren’t these Dr Fell’s plums?

Oh I’m sure she won’t mind. I left a note. Talking of Dr Fell, she is very keen for you to hand

over that black bag of yours for examination. It would be a futile exercise, of course, so I

suggest you leave hospital tomorrow morning before she next does her rounds. You are quite

fit enough now and there is nothing in all this typhus nonsense. Dr Fell is going to transfer

! 83

many of the patients from the Main Ward to the Isolation Ward. It’s going to be very crowded

and uncomfortable in there until after we have had this inspection and can send everyone

home again.

I will send one of the nurses with your clothes and I have taken the liberty of asking our

laundry van to give you a lift into town. So you need to be ready to leave at seven. Is that

alright?

I said yes immediately. I had been longing to leave the hospital ever since I fully recovered

from my wound.

I sat beside Dr Williams eating plums in silence, and he seemed to disappear into his own

thoughts as he stared at the wheelbarrow and murmured to himself,

so much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chickens

Guns and Hats/Swords and Ploughshares

We must stop making guns. That is the first thing I want to do. That is why I was chosen.

People want wars to stop. They want peace. I am the Empress and I am going to close all

! 84

factories that make guns, bombs, missiles, tanks – all that stuff. I am going to do it. And I

want all guns and weapons destroyed. That is what I called you here to tell you.

Your Majesty is trying to do something truly marvellous and truly good. But as your advisor,

your Psychopomp, I have to point out some problems. Otherwise I would not be doing the job

I was appointed to do.

What problems?

Well, firstly think about all the people you will be putting out of work. The arms industry

employs millions of people around the world. Then there are all those who supply the arms

industry, the steel works, the uniform makers, the computer companies, shipyards. There are

actually tens of millions of people involved. If you just stop making arms you are going to hit

all those people, and their families too. If they don’t have work what will they do?

But guns kill people! They kill millions of people a year.

You are absolutely right. But please let me go on.

As well as putting people out of work, if you stop manufacturing weapons so people will try

to make them secretly and that will put them in a very powerful position in an unarmed world.

You want to destroy all weapons. Does that include those used by the police to defend us

against dangerous criminals? And farmers whose have to destroy the vermin that attack their

crops? What happens if there is an uprising against you? How would you defend yourself?

It is a very complicated issue. You should think very carefully before making any

announcement. Before you became Empress these things would have to be approved by

parliament and the law, the legal system, and that usually stopped some of the damaging

aspects of legislation.

If you push this through it will also affect the stock market, prices will fall, people may go

bankrupt or lose their saving. It could cause an enormous amount to misery.

So, what do you advise? That I do nothing?

James heard the irritation in the Empress’s voice and the stubbornness that lay behind it, and

thought, she is not going to as be easy to deal with as Artemesia thinks. But he was used to

handling and winning over difficult people. That was his great skill, his opus. He foresaw no

difficulties he could not overcome.

Oh no! What you want to do is absolutely right. Right and good. But I would advise you to do

it gradually.

Gradually?

Yes, little by little so any damage to the economy or people’s lives is spread out over the

years. For example, you could start by outlawing certain chemical weapons. The other thing

to remember is that disease kills far more people than any wars. Perhaps you should start with

something health related.

The Empress was clearly annoyed by this advice.

Diseases are terrible but they don’t destroy cities, schools, hospitals and they don’t litter the

land with unexploded bombs and mines that take forever to remove. People want an end to

these stupid wars. And they want it now. Isn’t that why they put me here? They don’t want

‘little by little’. Neither do I!

Time to back off a step, thought James.

But remember people do not always understand the consequences of what they ask for. I will

leave you to think about this for a while and come back later. We are expected to make some

kind of announcement this afternoon. So you only have an hour or two. I’ve given you my

advice, which is do things gradually. Please give it some thought before you make any

decisions.

He gave a small formal bow to The Empress and left her to think.

As soon as James had left the room The Empress said,

! 85

TRUDI I don’t know what to do. Perhaps James is right I should start by doing something like

building more hospitals. But people made me empress to stop all the terrible wars that never

seemed to end. But I don’t want people to lose their jobs. I don’t want to make people

unhappy. What should I do? Should I stop people making guns? Should I destroy all

weapons?

The answer was instant, clear and unambiguous.

Yes.

She wants to close all the armaments factories and destroy all weapons, James told Artemesia.

And that is a bad thing? She asked.

Of course it is! To just do it like that. God only knows what the consequences will be. The

stock market may crash, millions will be out of a job, it will be utter chaos.

Yes, and that is exactly what we want. I think you may be exaggerating though. The stock

market is pretty much controlled by their computers now. That will counter any initial panic

and level thing out. This edict, or whatever she calls it, will be enormously popular. Who

doesn’t want an end to the arms industry? Those countries which make the weapons. It would

have been us the USA. But now we are part of one nation, one world, one empress, people

who once would only have their guns torn from their cold dead hands will be the first to throw

them into the crusher. It’s a temporary madness that has gripped the world James. For now

you must go along with it.

Make the announcement. Stand beside The Empress as her Psychopomp, in all your

wonderful regalia. Announce the end of arms. A new era of universal peace, harmony and

love- better say prosperity too – of a kind the world has never seen before. The greatest

moment in the history of humanity.

Later allow yourself to be interviewed. Express your utter delight in The Empress’s decision.

Go on, and on about her goodness, her innocence and her childish wisdom and her

enthusiasm. Then slip in a few doubts. You tell her that there might be some possible

problems in rushing ahead like this. But end on an upbeat note. You gave your advice as

Psychopomp. That is your duty. But this is what The Empress wants, and this is what The

People wants. Isn’t it wonderful! Isn’t it marvellous! etc.

One other thing. Get her to make another proclamation. Something to cheer people up. After

all closing down armaments factories won’t be noticed by most people. There will be no

obvious effect on their daily lives unless they work in one of the factories. Get her to

announce something to cheer everyone up. Something nice and simple and childish. The kind

of thing people love at first and then get very tired of. Like those stupid knock-knock jokes.

But what if she has taken my advice and decided to do things gradually?

Then I’m sure you can change it back again. The important thing is that when the time comes

you can honestly say you gave the right advice and she ignored it.

Have the appointments been made?

Yes. Do you remember Ivan Morcač, President of The Great Central Asian Republic?

Ivan the Terrible?

Yes. Minister of Justice.

Oh no! I don’t believe it!

Yes, he’s a completely reformed character. He’s sworn to make bring fairness and equality to

everyone under a new rule of law. And I’m sure you remember the flamboyant President

Colonel Kepala Besar of Pulau Selatan?

Who could forget him?

Minister of Finance.

! 86

Artemesia laughed, Brilliant what a team! But be careful James. Keep them on a tight rein.

When the time comes to dismiss them it must be done easily and quickly. Make sure their

power is limited to their office.

Yes, I have thought about that. Mayoria Borracho is still not official part of the World

Government.

The island of millionaires.

They have acknowledged The Empress but President, General Astorio Astuto is still in power.

Let our friends use Mayoria Borracho as a place to stash away all the bribes and gifts and

whatever they can steal. They’ll run there as soon as things look bad for them.

Perhaps it might be of use to us. The ‘empress’ is foolishly going to destroy all weaponry, but

she has no power over Mayoria Borracho. I would not be surprised if the islands don’t sink

under the weight of all the armaments that will soon flood in. Don’t let that happen James. At

least except for….

She looked at James to see if he understood. He nodded in agreement.

There’s some other things I wanted to talk about. I have made sure we cannot be overheard in

this room but the rest of the palace is constantly monitored and god knows what goes on

between ‘the empress’ and TRUDI. We need access to the computer James.

It’s not that easy, the smooth running of the world economy now depends on TRUDI and

various sub-systems. So far the largest and most powerful corporations have remained neutral,

they do not want to go against the mass of the people that are behind The Empress. They are

the people who really hold the power the financiers, the manufacturers and the computer

software companies. We can’t mess with TRUDI. It could upset everything. It’s too risky.

But let’s at least find out what’s going on here below us in the palace. I tried but just ran into a

locked door. You should be able to get it opened.

OK, let’s do that. like you I’m curious to meet TRUDI and her Custodian. Was there anything

else?

Just these stories of children in black that were seen around the palace. I think I might have

seen one once disappearing down a staircase. But most of the staff I spoke to claim to have

seen them. Have you.

No. Never. How did they get in? Who are they?

That’s the problem no one knows. They seem to appear and vanish. They don’t seem to do

any harm but I don’t like it James. I feel that there is something I don’t know about going on,

and I don’t like that. Thank goodness they seem to have gone for the time being. No one has

reported seeing them for a while now. Can you see if you can find out about them?

Perhaps ‘the empress’ knows something.

When James returned to The Empress he was dressed in the burgundy robes and high multitiered

hat of the Psychopomp and he was relieved when he found that The Empress had

decided to ignore his advice.

We will first make the proclamation from the balcony, for the television cameras, and then to

the Media who are gathered in The Great Hall. But there is one thing, before we leave to make

announcement, the people want something from you to cheer them up. Just some simple little

thing.

What kind of thing?

! 87

I don’t know. But I’m sure you can think of something. Just something people can do to cheer

themselves up. Brighten their day a little.

But I can’t. Not just like that. I can’t think of anything.

I know you can. Just say what comes into your head. Just as you did when you chose your

name. You have to. The people expect it.

So on a balcony of the Palace of the Golden Moon in front of the crowds that now

permanently surrounded the palace, The Empress, with her Psychopomp beside her,

proclaimed the end to the weapons of war.

She gave a brief speech that had been hastily prepared for her and that ended with the words,

….nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. Now

let the weak say, I am strong!

The crowd below erupted with joy, they cheered and whistled and threw their hats high into

the air as though releasing a huge flock of oddly shaped and brightly coloured birds. When the

cheers died down The Empress waved to the crowd and was about to turn around and leave

the balcony when the Psychopomp gave her a sharp dig in the shoulders with his elbow. The

Empress turned and faced the crowd again.

I would also like to proclaim…

The microphones picked up her words and they were amplified and carried them out over the

heads of the crowd, which fell silent in expectation.

I would also like to proclaim…

All The Empress could see in her mind’s eye was that flock of hats flying up towards her from

crowd below. Berets, caps, trilbys

72, beanies, woolly hats, sun hats and panamas. The hats

blocked out every other thought.

I would also like to proclaim… that tomorrow everyone shall wear a hat. A funny, hat. A silly

hat. That’s all.

The Empress turned and fled the balcony.

Her face was red. She felt awful. Why did she blurt out stupid things like that. She ran all the

way back to her apartment, flung herself on her bed and wept.

Outside the crowd was silent for few seconds as everyone wondered if they had heard the new

proclamation correctly, then there was an even greater explosion of cheers and everyone

wearing a hat threw it even higher in to the air.

The portrait was almost complete. All that remained for Fran Polda to was touch up a few tiny

details. The Empress still sat for her although it was not really necessary.

That’s it I’m finished.

Fran stuck her brush and stepped back. Don’t you want to see it?

The Empress jumped down and ran to stand beside her.

Well Em, what do you think?

It’s beautiful! Does it really look like me?

Yes, I think it does. It may not be what people see when they first meet you, it is meant to be

what they see when they know you. Fran had painted the The Empress seated in a highbacked

chair, wearing a pale blue silk dress that hung in folds of darker blue shadow, the dress

had puffed sleeves and three long loops of champagne pearls hung around The Empress’s

neck – princess length* said Fran - and on her head a simple diamond tiara, giving her the

look of a Renaissance princess. – people respect Empresses but they love Princesses -In her

hand she held a single wild rose. The other hand rested on a globe of the world. Her crown

was beside her on a small table next to a pile of books; Plato’s Republic, Adam Smith’s The

Wealth of Nations, Shakespeare’s Tempest and on top Alice through the Looking Glass. A

! 88

slightly rusty cavalry sabre leant against the side of her chair like a veiled threat to anyone

who might challenge her authority.

I used Bronzino 73 for my inspiration. Several of his portraits. You must see them some time.

The people are so alive and there are so many stories in their expressions, There’s a bit of the

childish innocence that’s in his painting of Bia the daughter of Cosimo de Medici in there.

There is a touch of his Portrait of a Girl With a Prayer Book in your expression too. I always

think she looks slightly angry and wants to get away and do something far more interesting

than sitting holding an old prayer book. The dress is something like that of Eleanor of Toledo.

But your smile. That is completely me! I’m glad you like it because it’s going to be

everywhere soon, hung in government offices, on stamps, postcards, coffee mugs. In a year I

will probably be sick of seeing your face!

It’s your face really. You painted it.

Let’s say both our faces, Fran laughed, By the way I was going to leave as soon as the picture

was finished but I’ve decided to stay a few days longer. I want to have a rest and see some of

the countryside before I go back to he city.

Of Fran I’m so pleased! I’m going to miss you so much when you go!

The Empress hugged the painter.

Artemesia stood on top of one of the highest towers in The Palace of the Golden Moon

leaning on a rail. It was a moonless night, and the stars invisible above the ceiling of cloud but

the darkness was punctuated with pinpoints of yellow light from villages and isolated farms.

Beads of moving light drew out the shape of busy roads while others meandered aimlessly

down what must be country lanes and track. She had come up here to be alone and to think.

She tried to stand outside and look at herself from the viewpoint of a detached observer.

She had come a long way since she started her first job as a receptionist in a small hotel in a

small town in the Mid West of America. She had started work straight out of high school. No

college education. But she had a rare talent; she could see what needed to be done and who

were the best people to do it. More than that, she had no doubt of her talent and what could be

done with it. After only two months she went to see the owner of the hotel chain and told him

! 89

that if he fired his current manager and made the improvements she suggested he could more

than double his income from the hotel she worked in. He was impressed and as the hotel was

starting to lose money he agreed.

Artemesia was proved right and she was given the job of improving all the other hotels in the

chain and appointing managers. For many people that would have been enough, but after just

over a year Artemesia moved on. She moved to Europe and took a job with a finance and

credit company based in Paris. She taught herself French, Italian and Spanish and though she

had no understanding of the financial world she was able to use her talent to pick the people

and the companies that were worth backing. As soon as this was realised by the management

her career took off. Two years later she was living in London, had an apartment overlooking

the Thames and was the Personal Assistant to one of the biggest investment consultants in the

city. This was how she met James. He came to them looking for somewhere to put the money

he had made from his last movie. He was still a B list actor at the time but Artemesia

immediately saw his potential. She knew that he was made for her. Not in any romantic way;

not that at all; but they way a painter may see his perfect model or a sculptor see the perfect

piece of marble for her next work. James had been flattered and a little wary when she offered

to be his PA. She was not even asking to be paid, she was just asking a percentage of the extra

income she could gain for him. Now she was here standing on the balcony of this crazy castle

the advisor and confidante to the most powerful man in the world, second only to The

Empress. She was here but she had paid a price. Her whole life was her work, and she saw her

work as an art. She was just as much an artist as Fran Polda it was just that she did not use

paint and canvas, real people where her material. But unlike Fran no one would ever look at

her creation and say Artemesia Arnside made that.

She had had no time for anything else but her work. She never saw her parents: she used to

send birthday and Christmas cards, now she sent text messages. She had no friends; all her

social life, dinners, theatre, parties, was about work. She could only relax when she was alone.

She had never had any close relationships. How could she, she never had time? Her life was

her art and her masterpiece was going to be James McQuarry. That makes me sound like Dr

Frankenstein she thought, But really, it’s me that has become the monster. My creation has

made me. God I am miserable! Once I stop working and look at myself what do I see? Just a

shell, a husk, an empty box, a zombie.

But I am here! The kid with the stupid name who never made it to college is here. Running

the man who runs the world. But I’m fooling myself, James knows what I’m doing and he

will go on with it as it suits him to do so. He will drop me one day, I know that, but I must be

the one to choose that time, or leave before it happens. And I will not be the one to carry the

can if things go wrong. I’ve seen that happen to too many people I’ve worked with. I’ve done

it myself: messed up then pointed the finger at someone below me and walked away without

taking any responsibility. I will never let that happen to me! I will never be the scapegoat.

(On her private desk Artemesia had a picture of purple mountains rising from a dead salt lake.

In the foreground cowered a white goat with some red ribbons tied between its horns. It had

been cast out into the burning yellow and white desert of the salt pans. It stood helpless

surrounded by the bleached bones of dead animals; its feet had broken through the thin crust

of salt and were trapped in the stinging asphalte scum 74 beneath.

Artemesia had written on the picture in bold black letters, This Will Not Happen to Me!

I will complete my work, I’ll set James up and then start to fill the emptiness it has left in me.

After this is all over.

Then her thoughts returned to something she had been thinking of for several days; the

problem of keeping James as the centre of attention. How to make him eclipse the empress in

the public eye. Her answer. To get James a girlfriend. There was already speculation in the

! 90

media about the relationship between her and James. She found it puerile and annoying and

she certainly did not want the spotlight on her. So find James a girlfriend.

But who? Someone very good looking. She had to be that: they had to make a good couple.

And the girl had to be completely unsuitable. There had to be is-it-on-is-it-off speculation and

there had to be a long drawn out break up, with perhaps a short reconciliation in the middle. It

would be a disaster if James fell in love. That must not happen.

She must find James a suitable girlfriend. But who?

The Mazy Road 75

Early the morning after I had spoken to Dr Williams and walked away leaving him lost in his

thoughts I awoke to find that one of the nurses visited in the night and had left my clothes at

the foot of the bed. I dressed quickly and left the ward. Outside in the yard in front of the

Main Ward was parked a very battered old green van with Kristina Kwik Kleen Laundry

written in large red letters on the side. Inside sat a very large man with a mass of tousled hair

and wearing the kind of old fashioned glasses that I think are called pince-nez tied to the

button hole in his lapel by a black ribbon. 76

Buck up old cock! Jump in! He cried.

I opened the door threw in my black bag and Indigo leapt up beside it.

Stap my vitals! And split my windpipe! If it isn’t a catape! I heard the driver shout.

I had barely time to scramble up into the cab beside the driver when the van jerked off to as

start and with a shuddering clash of gears lurched off down the road.

Damn it all, mind my hat!

I almost sat on a wide brimmed hat.

That’s right make yourself comfortable, sit on my hat. Beautiful morning isn’t it?

The sun had just come up over the hill and high cloudlets in the sky were tinged with apricot.

I agreed.

How much does it cost?

I’m sorry, how much does what cost?

The sunrise, damn it! The sunrise! Didn’t you hear me say, Beautiful morning…?

Yes.

Then what do you think it costs?

I don’t know. I don’t think you can put a price on a sunrise.

What! The van swerved violently from side to side. Are you a hermit by any chance?

No.

Have you just come out of prison? Spent most of your life in solitary confinement?

No.

Then you must know that there is a price for everything. Everything has a price. Even

sunrises.

Do you really believe that? I asked.

Of course not! You ass! You long eared fool! What on earth made you think that?

Because you just said…

! 91

I say a lot of things. Some of them are nonsense and some of them are true. Most of the

nonsense is true and most of the truth is nonsense.

Would you like a drink? Have you had breakfast? Nothing better than a snifter of good whisky

to start the day.

No thanks. Not now.

Damn your eyes! I don’t like to drink alone.

He started to search in the numerous pockets of his heavy tweed suit.

Here hold on to the wheel for me. Ah here it is! Bit to the left. The LEFT!

He pulled out a leather covered hip flask and took a deep pull on it.

Ah! Right a bit. RIGHT! No left. Keep you eyes on the road damn it!

Oh that’s good! The folly of my youth and the shame of my age. He took another drink and

then stuffed the flask back into his pocket.

I’ll have the wheel back now. Oh this is a good road. A reeling road, a rolling road, a rambling

road, a merry road and a mazy road. 77 Oh I like this road.

Do you like poetry?

I said that I did.

What do you think of this?

The man in the wilderness asked of me,

How many strawberries grow in the sea?

I answered him, as I thought good:

“As many red herrings as grow in the wood.” 78

Before I could answer he carried on.

Everything in that is poetical; from the dark unearthly figure of the man of the desert, with his

mysterious riddles, to the perfect blend of logic and vision which makes beautiful impossible

pictures. Don’t you agree.

I said I had always like nonsense.

Nonsense? You think it’s nonsense? I think it is a masterpiece of psychology. But you are right

it’s also nonsense. Nonsense is an art. Sense is like daylight or air, and may come from

anywhere in any amount. But nonsense is an art, and we must choose our nonsense carefully.

Nonsense should never be brick wall. It should be a fantastical finger-post on a wild road.

Watch out! Damn it that car was on the wrong side of the road! I think. Now where was I?

Sign-posts. Finger-posts. Do you know where I’m going?

I said I thought he might be going to Kristina.

Damn it boy! Of course I’m going to Kristina! But I’m going to Kristina by way of….

somewhere. Let me look at the map.

He fumbled in his pockets again and drew out a map that caught in the wind from the open

window and unfolded and flapped about making it impossible to see out of the window.

Damn maps! Whoa! Corner! Hold on!

Brakes screeched. The van lurched violently from side to side several times. With Indigo I

was thrown across onto the tangle of man and map.

Get off me! How can I drive with…

The van lurched in the other direction throwing the man on top of me, and then it toppled over

into the ditch.

I wriggled free from beneath a suffocating warm mountain of cursing tweed and crawled out

of the window of the van. Indigo was already sitting on the grass watching me curiously.

There was little damage done to the van, but I could see it would take several men to get back

on the road from it lay on its side in the ditch beneath a wild rose bush.

Get me out of here! Damn you! What are you doing out there?

! 92

It was no easy task to get the driver out of the van but with much pulling and panting he was

finally out and sitting beside me on the grass.

Where’s my hat? Where’s my glasses?

I climbed back inside the van and retrieved his hat and glasses as well as my black bag.

No damage done, he said surveying the van, Nothing to worry about. this often happens on

this corner. Very bad corner. Zed bend. Dangerous corner 79. I expect someone will be along at

some point and help put the van on the road again. But don’t you wait. You go on. There’s a

junction a mile or so ahead and you can get a bus from there. Now off you go. Buzz off! You

and your Indigo catape. I think I deserve a drink after that.

And he started to fumble in the pockets of his tweed suit again.

So ended my short journey in the laundry van. I set off down the road Indigo sitting on my

shoulder. As the road turned the next corner I turned and waved. The Driver waved his flask

back at me.

A few days after You had escaped from the Contagious Hospital in the laundry van Dr Fell

summoned the nurses to her office.

I have called you here to tell you that I have heard that tomorrow we are going to have the

long awaited surprise inspection of this hospital and I want you to be prepared. And I want to

make sure the patients are prepared too. I want everything to go smoothly and for our visitors

to go away impressed. Impressed and inspired by the efficiency, the cleanliness, the

atmosphere of loving kindness, the teamwork. The leadership. So impressed that go away

thinking all the other hospitals are filthy plague ridden rat holes in comparison to this one Is

that understood? Have I made myself clear? Would you like me to say it again? Slowly. Well

Nurse Kambing?

Yes Dr Fell. I mean no Dr Fell. I mean I understand Dr Fell.

God help me! This is only the first part. Do you understand what I’ve just said! You are sure?

All of you?

Yes Dr Fell.

Yes Dr Fell.

Yes Dr Fell

None of the patients are to leave the wards until after the inspection is over and those in the

Isolation Ward are to remain in their beds all the time. Especially Mr Marz. I repeat that.

Especially Mr Marz You will make sure that you are wearing clean uniforms and caps – I will

personally strangle anyone who is wearing anything but a hospital regulation cap. Strangle

slowly and with great pleasure - and that all bed linen and pillows have been freshly

laundered. I want all the bedside tables tidied up. You may allow patients a jug and glass of

water, some fruit, a book or a radio. Everything thing else must be stored in their cupboards.

Understood?

Yes Dr Fell.

Yes Dr Fell.

Yes Dr Fell.

Tomorrow when our guests arrived you will be as busy and bright and cheerful as little bushy

tailed squirrels. And let’s face it, so a bunch of bloody squirrels could have done a better job

than you lot. And everything will in the place it should be, gleaming and shining with a shiny

! 93

gleaminess as if we had just unwrapped the hospital and taken it out of its box that very

morning. And everything will be tickety-boo and hunky-dory will it not?

Yes!

No!

Yes!

No? Nurse Kambing do you mean, no things will not be tickety-boo and hunky-dory or no

meaning yes things will tickety-boo and hunky-dory.

Nurse Kambing had no idea what Dr Fell was talking about, and the ‘will it not’ had confused

her, but she knew a threat when she heard one

The second one Dr Fell… I think.

You think? Hurrah! We have made a breakthrough. Well, things had better be tickety-boo and

hunky-dory, Not just tickety. And definitely not just boo. Or just hunky or dory. And certainly

not tickety-dory or hunky-boo. I repeat, they will be both tickety-boo and hunky-dory.

Because if we fail this inspection we will be stuck in this hole for the rest of our lives.

That wouldn’t be the end of the world.

What Nurse Pintar? What! Not the end of the world? Ah, I see. You mean because we are

already in the End of the World. And not the Sitting on Top of the World 80 end of the world.

The other end. The end that fills the bedpans end of the world. That end of the world. Now I

will say this very clearly, very understandably. So clearly that even a brain damaged squirrel

would understand. If I am here in six month’s time it will because one of you messed up

tomorrow, and you will all, all three of you, be very, very, very sorry. Do you know how sorry

you will be?

No.

No.

Yes.

No Nurse Tikus you don’t. Let me tell you a little story that might give you some idea. Don’t

worry it won’t take long. Once there was an orphanage in a godforsaken hole somewhere in

Siberia. A little like this place. Only in Siberia. It was an orphanage for babies that had been

left on doorsteps, and was called The Orphanage for Babies That Have Been Left on

Doorsteps. Only in Russian.

There was a doctor in charge and three nurses to take care of the babies. One day the Doctor

and two of the nurses had to travel to the Big City to pick up a new supply of babies and they

left the youngest nurse in charge while they were away. Her name was Lizzie. Before she left

the Doctor said to Lizzie, Whatever you do be sure to lock the door because of the wolves that

come out of the dark forest at night. Then she said goodbye and off they went.

All was fine until that evening. Lizzie had fed and tucked all the hundred and sixteen babies

up in bed and the sat on a stool painting her toenails when she heard a noise outside. She

looked through the window and saw a very ugly fat boy from the village. He took out his

balalaika and sang,

Nurse! Oh Nurse! Oh little Nursie

Will you come to the dance in the village with me?

Lizzie! Oh Lizzie. Oh little Lizeee

Will you come and dance the yablochko with me? 81

No! Go away you ugly boy! Shouted Lizzie and continued to paint her toes.

Then she heard another noise outside. This time it was a rather plain boy who took out his

balalaika and sang


! 94

There’s still time to come out to the dance with me.

Lizzie! Oh Lizzie. Oh little Lizzee

Will you come and dance the tropak with me?

No! Go away you rather plain boy! shouted Lizzie

She was just painting the last little toenail on her left foot when she heard another noise

outside.

It was the handsome Archduke’s son who took out his balalaika and sang,


Will you come and dance the last waltz with me.

Lizzie! Oh Lizzie. Oh little Lizzee

Will you come and dance all night with me?

Yes! Yes! yelled Lizzie and raced off to the dance leaving the door to the orphanage wide

open.

Of course as soon as she had gone the wolves came out of the dark forest and ate all the

babies.

When Lizzie got back the next morning you should have seen the mess! There was blood

everywhere and not a trace of the babies. Well not quite, there was the odd little ear, some

little noses, some little fingers, some little toeses scattered around the place. Lizzie was soooo

sorry for what she’d done she cried and cried and cried. She was sorrier for what she had done

than anyone had ever been sorry before. She was sorry with a sorryness that is beyond

description. So she did the only sensible thing she had done in her life; she ran off and hung –

I mean hanged – herself off a near by birch tree.

Well you will be sorrier than that, and there are no birch trees round here.

The next morning two black cars drew up outside the hospital and Dr Fell was there waiting

to greet Artemesia.

Welcome, please come inside. But first I’m afraid I’ll have to insist you wear these masks,

gloves and overshoes when we tour the wards. We are in the middle of a suspected typhus

outbreak here. Don’t worry we have it under control. But we can’t afford to take any chances.

Can we. I have a first rate team here, Nurse Pintar, Nurse Tikus and Nurse Kambing. have

worked day and night to keep this outbreak contained and we have succeeded. Dedication and

team work. That’s what it’s all about. Isn’t it nurses.

Yes Dr Fell.

Yes Dr Fell.

Yes Dr Fell.

Now let me show you and you colleagues around. I’m afraid Dr Williams can’t be here to

greet you. He got an emergency call this morning and had to rush off. We can see the Main

Ward first and though you cannot enter the Isolation Ward you can look in through the

window in the Staff Room.

The inspection went off without a hitch except for the moment when Artemesia opened a

cupboard and a pile of paper hats fell out.

Ah, the hats! We all made them as The Empress ordered. It was such fun! It really cheered the

patients up didn’t it Kambing?

! 95

Nurse Kambing’s eyes filled with tears. Dr Fell put her arm around Nurse Kambing’s

shoulders.

Poor thing! Such happy memories, she’s overcome and she has hardly slept for weeks.

Working tirelessly and she’s been under so much stress. We all have.

In Dr Fell’s eyes Artemesia saw only sympathy and concern where Nurse Tikus and Nurse

Pintar saw razors, thorns, broken glass and other horrible sharp things that cut and pierced.

Nurse Kambing could see nothing through her tears.

When the inspection was over and the visitors were climbing back into the black cars

Artemesia shook Dr Fell by the hand.

I think I’m allowed to say that I have been very impressed by the work you have done here

and by the dedication and loyalty of your staff. And to be frank that is something that rarely

happens. You have here a model I would like to see adopted in all our Foundation Hospitals. I

will pass on my report to James McQuarry personally.

Please give my regards to Dr Williams.

At that moment Dr Williams was driving over a narrow stony mountain track looking for a

remote farmhouse that did not exist.

After the two black cars had left the hospital Dr Fell stood on the empty patch of ground in

front of the hospital, raised her eyes and her arms to heaven and cried to the sky,

Thank you God! Oh Utter Joy! Oh Utter Bliss! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! 82

Kristina Market

I did not have to wait long for a bus when I reached the bus stop at the junction in the road.

The wound in my shoulder ached from the tumble I had taken in the laundry van and from

carrying my black bag so I was relieved to be able to sit on the grass beside the road and wait.

I found Dr Willams had slipped a plastic wallet into my pocket, it contained enough money

for my journey and more besides. I flicked through the notes, took out one of the smaller ones

and put the wallet back into my pocket just as a single-deck olive green bus pulled up. I

climbed on and paid my fair to the driver then looked for a seat. The bus was full of

passengers, many of them with boxes and bags balanced on their knees and any spare space

was crammed with more boxes, cases, bags and packages. The only space I could see was on

the bench seat at the back of the bus so I edged my way towards it down the narrow aisle

stepping over the extended legs of men too tall to easily fit into the cramped seats and over

bags that had place there by overloaded passengers, Indigo bounding and scrabbling behind

me. A large middle-aged man in a blue shirt with a tweed cap pulled down over his eyes

dozed in one corner and the rest of the bench was taken up by two teenage girls. Both had

long chocolate coloured hair, one in a long plait that hung down across her shoulder and the

other had her hair pulled back from her face and tied with a red scarf.

Come on! There’s room for one more if we squeeze up. I sat down between the sleeping

farmer and the two girls as the bus moved on with Indigo and my bag on my lap. As usual

nobody had taken the slightest notice of Indigo. One of the girls took out a bag of cherries and

as they shared them the girls chattered away between themselves and the farmer snored gently

propped up in the corner, and I sat and gazed out of the window as the bus meandered its way

down narrow country roads flanked by open fields of corn, beans, potatoes and some low

growing dark green plants I did not recognise. I saw meadows dotted with cattle and horses; a

tramp sitting on a grassy bank stringing daises, a child who seemed trapped in a bramble

! 96

patch and men hauling sacks of grain from a cart into a mill by a river. Each a glimpse and

gone forever. 83

A boy waved from up in a tree as the bus passed by. The bus made occasional stops by the

tracks leading up to remote grey stone farmhouses. At one of these the farmer and his wife sat

perched on the branch of an old oak tree that grew beside the gate and young man carrying a

suitcase jumped off the bus and shouted something up to them that them laugh and cling on to

the branch for fear of falling off. We came into a small village, a tumbled pile of tiny white

walled housed with red tiled roofs, and pulled up in the village square beside a blacksmith’s

shop beneath a spreading chestnut tree 84. It seemed as if most of the village was up the tree.

Ladders had been leant against the trunk and thick knotted ropes tied to the branches. I could

see the village baker in his white apron sitting next to the blacksmith still his smoke

blackened leather apron. On one branch sat a row of children, perched like little birds,

increasing in size the further along the branch they sat, the tallest was far out among the green

leaves and the baby safely pressed up against the trunk. Above the bole where the first strong

branches spread out the villagers had built a platform on which stood two women passing up

bread rolls, cakes and drinks to those higher up the tree. Just above the in the cleft of two

strong branches sat a man playing the accordion, further out was a guitar, a fiddle and a girl

with a tambourine. No one on the bus seemed very surprised to see this party in a tree and just

continued to chatter among themselves as if it was not even worth commenting on, nobody

got on or off, the driver sounded his horn and we moved off again.

Was that some kind of tradition? I asked the girl sitting next to me.

Both girls burst into fits of giggles before she replied,

Haven’t you heard?

Heard what?

The Empress’s proclamation!

I said I had heard that she had proclaimed we should all wear hats for a day, and that I had

made a paper hat to wear while I was in hospital.

Oh, if you’ve been in hospital you may have missed it. Yesterday she proclaimed that today

we should all climb a tree. People in hospital, the very old and the very young are exempt.

Isn’t that awesome? Making everyone climb a tree, I mean. She’s so funny! We all love The

Empress. Don’t we Laura?

Laura agreed. Live was a lot more fun since The Empress arrived.

Would you like a cherry? We climbed our cherry tree and picked these cherries first thing this

morning, before we went for the bus. Why were you in hospital?

I just said that I had hurt my arm but that it was better now and that I was on my way to

Kristina.

My sister hasn’t been well. If she doesn’t get better she may have to go to hospital.

I had noticed that one of the girls looked pale and tired.

Oh, Lizzie! Take no notice of her! She’s always exaggerating. I’ve just been feeing a little

sick. It’s only a cold or something.

The girls were called Laura and Lizzie and they lived alone together in a cottage not far from

the crossroads where I had got on the bus. They were on their way to the monthly market in

Kristina, where it seemed that Laura had picked up her illness when they last visited. Lizzie

thought the outing might do Laura some good, and she agreed.

Oh, I’m sure I’ll feel a lot better when we get there.

! 97

The market varied from month to month they told me, there was a meat markets, a cloth and

clothing market, a vegetable market, a bric-a-brac and antique market –

We love that one! – and this month it was the fruit market.

It’s amazing, fruit from everywhere you can think of. People come from all over the country.

Oh, look at that bald man up that tree! 85 Whoops, he’s dropped his glasses!

The sight of an elderly bald man with glasses up a tree sent them into fits of giggles that lasted

several minutes.

Sorry. But he looked so funny didn’t he? And when he dropped his glasses he almost fell out

of the tree!

The thought of it sent them off into shrieks of laughter again.

What was I saying, Laura? asked Lizzie wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her blouse..

You were telling him about the fruit market, said Laura.

That’s right. I was saying people come from all over the place. The town gets really crowded.

Packed full. Where are you staying? Have you booked a room?

I said I hadn’t and that I had expected to find somewhere when I arrived.

You won’t. I can tell you now everywhere will be booked up. This is the biggest market of the

year and people book months in advance.

What can I do? Should I try to go on to another town? Would I be able to get another bus or

train?

Lizzie laughed.

Look at your face! Oh don’t worry, we’re staying with our Aunt Ellen. She has a guest house

and I’m sure she will find space for you.

But won’t she be full up too.

Oh, there’s always room for a little one. said Laura, and the giggles came back again.

She’ll find somewhere for you if we ask her, said Lizzie, we’re her favourite nieces.

Oh, look at those people up that tree! That fat woman! The branch is sure to break!

Are they picking apples?

We were passing through fruit growing country and orchards with orderly ranks of apple and

pear trees stretched off on either side.

This all belongs to the Duke d’Este. As far as you can see. Have you heard of him?

I sais I hadn’t.

Oh, he’s very rich and owns lots of land. He lives in a castle near the Heath.

I said I might have seen the towers of the castle from the road.

That’s the place!, said Laura, I’d love to see it. But I’d much rather see The Palace of the

Golden Moon and The Empress. I’d so love to see The Empress.

Look at that! cried, Lizzie pointing out of the window. Up that tree!

That girl in the short skirt and high heels! What a sight! How did she get up there?

That skirt was far too short to climb a tree in, don’t you think? asked Lizzie.

I replied that I hadn’t noticed but must have gone red because Laura almost choked and Lizzie

sniggered,

He didn’t notice!

I bet he did really.

You did really, didn’t you?

I’m sure he did.

Look he’s gone red!

He must have done!

I was teased mercilessly until the girls were distracted by the fact we were approaching

Kristina.

Look there’s the river!

Kristina was built on a river and as well as being a big market town was also a busy port.

! 98

The road lead us along the river, and to one side were scattered bungalows and houses, with

well tended lawns and gardens, that looked out across the water, on the other the wide

expanse of water and beyond that blue hills. A towboat pulling two barges made its way

slowly down stream. As we drew closer to the town the houses became packed in to tall

balconied terraces. Slowly as we neared the centre of the town the houses were gradually

replaced by docks, warehouses and factories. We stopped in a car park by the docks. All

around us cranes slanted upwards like giant tent pegs and huge gantries slid back and forth

unloading containers.

Everyone climbed down from the bus, stretched their legs, glad to escape from the

confinement of their seats, some stood and waited for their luggage to be unloaded, while

others wandered off to board another bus or find a taxi. As well as their bags the girls had two

huge suitcases that seemed more appropriate for a month’s holiday abroad than a weekend in

the city.

It’s not far away but It’s to far to walk from here. Not with all this luggage, said Lizzie, as we

all piled into a black taxi cab.

The taxi pulled up outside a tall red brick house in the middle of a long terrace overlooking a

park. A short flight of steps led up to a green door with a well-polished brass knocker. Laura

ran up the steps and hammered on the door. The woman who answered the door was wearing

a pale grey silk dress, her hair parted in the middle and swept back into some kind of chignon

gave her a rather sever look.

Aunt Ellen, it us! Lizzie and Laura. Your favourite nieces!

Laura and Lizzie dropped their bags and flung themselves upon their aunt.

When the had finally extricated herself from their clutches Aunt Ellen looked at me and said,

And who is this?

This is You. We met him on the bus and he has nowhere to stay tonight. Can you find a bed

for him? Please!

Please! Please!, they chorused. Otherwise he will have to sleep on the streets.

Well we don’t want that.

Aunt Ellen’s features softened when she smiled and I knew that I would be made welcome.

There’s the little box room under the stairs I suppose I could move some things out of there.

That is if he doesn’t mind a bed on the floor, and spiders.

I said I’d be happy to sleep on the floor and that I loved the company of spiders.

Then she noticed indigo who had been sitting on the pile of luggage at the bottom of the steps.

Good heavens! Is that a catape? Is it yours? Then of course you must stay. It’s so long since I

had one in my house.

What? said the girls, What are you talking about?

Nothing, said their Aunt, I’m just rambling as usual.

Now You, I’m Mrs Alleyne 86, please come in. And if you would like to help my nieces with

their cases I’m sure they will be suitably grateful. I carried the girls’ luggage up three flights

of stairs to an airy attic room, on each landing I passed closed doors with a polished brass

number on each one. I returned downstairs to the living room. The room was filled with heavy

oak furniture, some comfortable arm chairs, a dresser on which stood rows of china figurines,

jugs and plates, a side table bearing a vase with wine red peonies in it. On the wall was a

painting of the white robed figure of a man standing and offering a stem of lilies to a girl in

white crouched on a bed. Above the lilies fluttered a little white bird. The girl had thin red hair

parted in the middle, one side fell across her face the other behind her shoulder. On her face

was a strange distant expression that might have been anticipation, introspection, or even fear.

Both figures had golden halos standing like plates behind their heads. 87 As well as the

painting, on the walls were were several texts that I guessed were on religious themes. Mrs

! 99

Alleyne was sitting on one of the chairs and to my surprise Indigo was curled up in her lap

like a little dog.

The girls came in carrying a tray with teapot cups and sweet ginger biscuits. Lizzie noticed

me looking at one of the texts.

Aunt Ellen is very religious, but she’s very nice really. Aren’t you Aunt Ellen?

The two are not mutually exclusive Lizzie, said her Aunt.

We’ve made a bed for You under the stairs, like you asked, Said Laura.

Thank you girls. Now You, we are very full up here and they are quite a boisterous lot, so

don’t be surprised if you hear a lot of noise and comings and goings in the night. I only hope

you will be able to get some sleep.

I said I would and that I was very tired.

You must be, the girls have told me a little of your adventures, and I understand you have only

just come out of hospital. So you must rest. But first you must eat. I can’t offer you much just

now, just some cold chicken and salad. But first I will show you where you’ll be sleeping and

you can put your bag away. Tomorrow morning at eight we have breakfast in the dining room.

There’s a small shower room down here on the ground floor that you can use. I’ll show you.

As soon as we had left the room she took me by the arm and said, ‘When I was last in the

market there were men asking about about you. Asking if anyone had seen you. Men I did not

like the look of. The Duke d’Este’s men.

My sleep was broken several times in the night by the sound of voices and footsteps on the

stairs above where lay. I heard someone say,

A catape! Are you sure? Where is it now? In the box room? Why I’ll be…

The next morning I was awoken by the voices of the girls coming from the kitchen.

Mix a pancake,

Stir a pancake,

Pop it in the pan;

Fry the pancake,

Toss the pancake, --

Catch it if you can. 88

Breakfast in the dining room! Hurry up! they called as I returned from getting washed.

There were three men already seated at the table when I entered the dining room; all were

striking but young man with an extravagant mass of red curls caught my eye as soon as I

stepped into the room.

It’s the lad with the catape! Come in! Sit down! Where is it? Where’s the catape?

Calm down Algy 89, said an older man with thin hair and a peculiar gingerish bifurcated beard

that grew down either side of his face in two tapering points. 90 Calm down. Let him have his

breakfast.

The third man with longish brown hair parted on one side, goatee beard and moustache and

sad liquid eyes 91 rose from his chair and said,

I’m Gabriel, Ellen’s brother. You must be You. Come in and sit down. This is Edward, he said

nodding towards the man with the odd beard, and you will have already guessed this is Algy.

Laura and Lizzie came in carrying a tray loaded with pancakes dripping with hone and

surrounded by thick wedges of lemon.

Hurrah! cried the three men.

Let’s eat! Algy had grabbed a pancake before Lizzie had the chance to lay the plate on the

table.

! 100

Ah that such sweet things should be fleet,

Such fleet things sweet! 92

He proclaimed through a mouthful of pancake.

Take no notice, he’s a poet and easily excited, said Edward

A poet? Then perhaps you know a friend of mine, Milan? They call him the Bird Poet!

Bird poet! Algy choked and spat crumbs of pancake across the table.

You call that wriggle and foam poetry!? That endless alliteration of heated and meaningless

words, that utter garbage!

Algy! Algy! Please. You are talking about a friend of our guest.

I apologise, said Algy, I am sure he is a delightful and charming companion, but as a poet…

pah! This is poetry! He stood up, laid one hand on his heart raised the other towards the

ceiling and recited,

From too much love of living

From hope and fear set free,

We thank with brief thanksgiving

Whatever gods may be

That no life lives for ever;

That dead men rise up never;

That even the weariest river

Winds somewhere safe to sea.

93

We applauded politely and Algy sat down and resumed the attack on his pancake.

Do you know where I might find Milan, I asked cautiously, afraid I might trigger another

outburst.

You mean Shrike? He’s the poet that writes that bird nonsense. He works for that detestable

man the Claus Ferrara, the Duke d’Este.

I suppose you might find him hanging around the Market Place with the Duke’s men. said

Edward.

Did you say Shrike? I asked.

Yes, Milan Shrike. The one who calls himself the Bird Poet. But I would advise you to have

nothing to do with Claus Frerrara, or any of his people if you want to keep out of trouble,

Where might is, the right is:

Long purses make strong swords. 94

Isn’t that right Algy?

Algy who whose mouth was now full of his third pancake could only nod his mass of ginger

curls in agreement.

The words of the Grey Gypsy, ‘Should you meet a man called Shrike in your travels, take

care, and felt a sudden sick cold disappointment deep inside that sat there like like a heavy

lump of uncooked dough. Mi had betrayed me. He had shown a great deal of interest and must

have set up the theft and attack then left with children in black. He must have informed his

master the Duke d’Este and now he was trying to track me down

Laura! Lizzie! Bring us more pancakes. Algy’s scoffed all this lot! called Gabriel.

When Laura returned with a fresh plate of pancakes Indigo came in behind her.

Look! It’s the catape!

Amazing!

Astounding!

Astonishing!

What a beautiful creature!

More beautiful than I could have imagined.

! 101

Come here Indigo, let’s have a good look at you

Extrordinary!

This was the first time that I had met a group of people who could all see Indigo, and she

seemed very pleased by the attention, jumping up and perching on the windowsill from where

she gazed across to where we were seated around the table.

What new game are they playing? Laura laughed, and then said to me,

Aunt Ellen wants to see you in the living room when you have finished breakfast.

The room was empty when I entered. While I waited I read some of the texts that hung on the

wall, I found they were embroidered poems or samplers,

The sweetest blossoms die.

And so it was that, going day by day

Unto the church to praise and pray,

And crossing the green church-yard thoughtfully,

I saw how on the graves the flowers

Shed their fresh leaves in showers;

And how their perfume rose up to the sky

Before it passed away. 95

and

When all the over-work of life

Is finished once, and fast asleep

We swerve no more beneath the knife

But taste that silence cool and deep;

Forgetful of the highways rough,

Forgetful of the thorny scourge,

Forgetful of the tossing surge,

Then shall we find it is enough?

They all seemed sadly melancholic and rather depressing, but I was struck by one because it

expressed exactly the feeling I had tried to explain so many times since I set out on my

journey.

The hope I dreamed of was a dream,

Was but a dream; and now I wake,

Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old,

For a dream's sake.

I hang my harp upon a tree,

A weeping willow in a lake

I hang my silent harp there, wrung and snapt

For a dream's sake.

Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;

My silent heart, lie still and break:

Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed

For a dream's sake.

! 102

Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed

For a dream's sake. 96

I have never forgotten those lines.

Ah, I see you are reading my poems. What do you think of them?

I had to say that I thought they very good but found them rather sad. In fact In fact I preferred

Algy’s poem or even Mi’s The murmuring moan of Magpies in melancholy Monmouthshire

to these miserable and disturbing verses.

Yes, life is sad. Gementes et flentes in hac lacrimarum valle, mourning and weeping in this

valley of tears. 97 I try to use my talent for good whenever I can.

But I don’t want to talk to you about poetry. Early this morning two of the Duke d’Este’s men

knocked on my door. They said they were searching for a young man carrying a black bag

who arrived in town by bus yesterday after leaving The Contagious Hospital. In other words

they were looking for you.

They said you were seen leaving the bus station with two girls who may have been my nieces,

and did I know anything that could help the. I am ashamed to say that I lied. I shall pray for

forgiveness, but I don’t know why but I felt whatever it was that the Duke d’Este wanted from

you it couldn’t be for anything good. He is a detestable man. So I told them that my rooms

were all full up and that you had probably gone to look for lodgings among the cheaper hotels

and hostels downtown. It will take them all day to check those. Do you know why the Duke

d’Este would want to meet you?

I said no. I hadn’t even heard of the Duke d’Este until yesterday.

Well best to be careful. I think it would be better for you to leave Kristina as soon as you can.

Would you like me to try and get you a place on one of the boats? I know someone who owns

a lighter and sometimes carries passengers. Meanwhile if you do go out, go with Lizzie and

Laura, they’ll look after you. The town is so busy it should be safe enough. You won’t be

noticed in the crowd. You can put your bag in this. It should easily fit inside.

She handed me a large red and white shopping bag with a long wide shoulder strap on which

was the picture of an apple tree its boughs bent with thickset fruit; it seemed as ordinary as my

bag was magical.

Come on! cried Lizzie, We want to show you around the market.

I don’t know if I should, Your aunt will have told you there are people looking for me and I

can’t risk getting you or your Aunt into any trouble. I won’t go anywhere unless I know it’s

safe.

Seldom "can't,"

Seldom "don't";

Never "shan't,"

Never "won't." 98

Sang the girls.

That’s what Aunt Ellen always tells us.

You must change your clothes before we leave, Uncle Gabriel has asked Algy to lend you

some of his, you’re about the right size. When we left the house I was wearing black and

yellow check trousers, a green and blue striped shirt, a large floppy velvet bow tie and a long

paisley patterned silk jacket. I felt ridiculous and extremely self-conscious, but Lizzie and

! 103

Laura – between fits of giggles – insisted I looked even more the dandy that Algy himself and

that no one would ever suspect that I was the boy who arrived on the bus yesterday.

The streets were packed as we made our way towards the market square; in the road the traffic

inched along, buses full to overflowing with passengers trapped between trucks and pickups

laden with wooden crates and boxes, cars hopelessly sounding their horns simply because

there was nothing else to do, the drivers cursing their stupid mistake of trying to drive into

town on market day. Only motorbikes and cycles moved freely, weaving their way between

the almost stationary traffic. Clever stall holders with only a small amount to sell had lashed

on to their bikes as many bags and boxes as they could carry and wobbled their way

unsteadily between the other vehicles ringing bells and hooting horns to announce they were

coming through. As soon as we stepped out of the house the three of us were picked up and

carried away by the stream of pedestrians that flowed along the pavement.

Lizzie and Laura linked arms with me, and shouted to make themselves heard above the noise

of the street.

Don’t get lost. We would never find you again.

And you would never be able to find you way back to the house.

We pushed and shoved our way along, the girls were determined not to lose me and hung

determinedly on to my arms even though this meant we often had to elbow and force our way

through a mostly good humoured crowd. Indigo perched high on my shoulder her tail curled

firmly around my neck. One or two people turned and stared but it was clear that she was

invisible to most. Our progress was made even more difficult because I had the red and white

shopping bag, with my black bag inside, slung across my shoulder. Laura had offered to take

it but I insisted on carrying it myself.

The market was held in the huge open space that marked the city square; the square was

surrounded by a raised colonnade housing a host of small shops and cafes whose goods and

tables and chairs narrowed and already restricted walkway. Now it was impossible to walk

three abreast the girls released me and we edged our way around beneath the arches of the

colonnade until Laura saw a group of people picking up their bags of shopping as they

prepared to vacate a table.

Look! They’re going. Quick get that table!

We sat down the shiny metal chairs around a glass-topped table. For the first time I was able

to have an unobstructed view across the square. It was packed with market stalls, most of

them with brightly coloured awnings, red, blue and green with white stripes. On the stalls

were piles of every imaginable fruit.

Apples and pears

Quinces,

Lemons and oranges,

Cherries

Melons and raspberries

Peaches

Mulberries

Mangoes

Wild cranberries

Crab apples

Dewberries

Pineapples

Blackberries

Apricots

! 104

The voices of traders yelling out their wears and urging customers was almost deafening, the

sound washed over me like the cooing of a million doves, before I could make out the

squawks, crows and chatter of individual voices calling:

Come buy! Come buy!

Grapes fresh from the vine!

Juicy pomegranates!

Taste and try our damsons and bilberries!

Come buy! Come buy! Melons and figs!

Fresh strawberries! Picked this morning!

Ripe blackcurrants and gooseberries! Buy now!

Figs! The cheapest and best you’ll find!

Come buy! Come buy! 99

All the fruit looked sweet and delicious but Lizzie and Laura were more interested in

watching people that buying fruit.

Over there! By that stall with the blue awning selling tomatoes. See that man with the ginger

whiskers? Doesn’t he look just like a cat?

He does! A big ginger cat! Do you think he’s got a tail.

What do you think You?

I said I was certain that he had a long ginger and white striped tail hidden beneath the counter

of the stall.

We sipped our coffees and continued with the game.

That man with the pointy face and slicked back black hair and dressed in black, he’s a rat. The

one selling pineapples.

You’re right!

A great big black rat! Yeugh!

The tall thin woman in grey with the long nose could be a heron or a crane.

Yes, a heron. I’m sure she is.

Don’t look! Lizzie kicked my ankle under the table, but there some men going around asking

people questions and showing them a paper.

Do you think they are looking for me?

Probably not. They are probably looking for some pickpocket or someone has run off with the

money from one of the stalls. But it’s best not to draw attention to ourselves. Just act normal.

drink your coffee and they’ll probably pass us by.

There’s a wombat! cried Laura

Wombat? You don’t know what a wombat looks like.* (Kept as pet by D G Rossetti)

Yes I do! They’re little round, fat, brown animals. A bit like a pig and exactly like that little

woman in the brown coat over there.

There’s a ratel!

What?

What? You you’re making that up. There’s no such animal as a ratel.

I was just about to say there was and describe the animal when a voice behind me cried,

Inigo? Is that you Inigo? It’s me Nurse Tikus. I almost didn’t recognise you in those new

clothes. What are you doing here? The others are around here somewhere. Dr Fell has given

us the day off because we did so well in the inspection. Can you imagine that, giving us a day

off? Miracles do happen sometimes. Dr Williams….

I never heard what Nurse Tikus was going to say because I’d seen the men who had been

asking questions were heading directly for our table and could not help but have heard Nurse

Tikus calling out when she saw me. They were big thickset men with close cropped hair, and

expressionless faces, and moved with straight backs, shoulders pushed purposefully back, like

ex-policemen or soldiers.

! 105

I jumped up from the table, grabbed my bag and ran down the steps into the market. I dashed

between two stalls and ran into a woman carrying a pannier of oranges knocking her to the

ground and the oranges spilled out across the stone already dark and slippery with the juice

and skin of fruit crushed underfoot. I saw three men bound down the steps after me. One

tripped and tumbled down the steps - I guessed he had been tripped by the girls – but the other

two came on. The woman on the ground was screeching something and trying to gather up her

oranges. She clutched at my leg but I ran on pushing and clawing my way through the throng.

I heard the woman shouting behind me and several stallholders yelling something in reply. A

man dashed out from behind his stall and tried to grab me. I put the palm of my hand on his

chest and pushed hard; he fell backwards into the people behind and tumbled over on top of a

woman and her baby. I felt fingers trying to grip my shoulder and Indigo twisting and biting.

There was a curse and the grip was released. I ducked under an awning and squeezed between

two stalls into the next row, upsetting plastic dishes full of raspberries and blueberries as I did

so.

Someone caught hold of my coat and would not let go. I let the red bag drop to the floor and

wriggled out of the coat. I snatched my black bag out from the one that lay on the ground and

staggered on. Most people were afraid to do anything to try and stop me but there were one or

two brave enough to have a go and the men behind had pushed through into the new row and

were still following. I was smaller and more nimble-footed than my pursuers, and by writhing

and wriggling and twisting my way through the crowd I was beginning to outdistance them.

Then a weaselly little boy in a white apron stained red with juice, stuck out a foot and I

tripped. As I staggered to gain my balance I lurched into a stall knocking over a pile of boxes

full of ripe tomatoes. I tried to straighten up but slid on the pulpy mush of crushed tomatoes,

slipped and fell to the ground. The boy leapt on my back with a shriek of triumph and began

pummelling my head with his clenched fists. Then others who had not the courage to

challenge me while I was standing piled on. They punched and kicked and hit any part of me

they could as I lay struggling in the filthy slime of squashed tomatoes, grease, cigarette ends,

banana skins and discarded rubbish that covered the stone flags of the market square. I was

crushed and suffocating beneath that furious heap of people when I felt the weight lighten and

saw my attackers picked up and tossed aside by stronger hands. Finally, the same hands

reached me and gripped me my shoulders and pulled me to my feet. I felt an agonising pain

from my knife wound and cried out, but the hands only gripped tighter as the two men tried to

drag me away from the market. I screamed out in pain but one man held tight to my arm

twisting it back while the other kept his hand on my shoulder and pushed me forward. A wave

of pain swept over me and carried me back with it dragging me down into darkness.

Let them eat kale.

Can I come with you and James next time you go out?

You can do whatever you like. You are The Empress.

Fran that is not fair, you know I’d never come unless you wanted me to.

I was just teasing. Of course you can. I think it would do you good. You have never been

outside the gardens of this place, and you don’t have the chance to spend much time there.

Besides it’s all so… so artificial. I know it’s beautiful, the fountains, the fish, the flowers, the

marble staircases, the towers and domes and all that, but it’s all too story book, too much of a

picture made real. Like a painting, say of a vase of flowers, very beautiful too look at but it is

always a painting. No point in going away with the painting and and thinking you have the

! 106

real thing. If you try to make the painting real you will always be disappointed. Paintings are

paintings and that’s the way they should stay. I think it is the same for picture book palaces.

Perhaps I should turn it into some kind of theme park open to everyone and go and live in a

little cottage in the country, or a flat in the city.

Wasn’t the idea that the palace, The Palace of the Golden Moon, would be open to everyone?

But from what I see most of it is offices and private apartments. And The Royal Apartments,

are sealed up and guarded by your six loyal guard dogs.

But there are still the organised tours between two and five. I heard a guide say they are now

booked up four years in advance and the waiting list is growing. Four years! The whole world

wants to see this place and you too.

And you know Em, there’s something not right about this place, I’ve been looking closely and

most of the marble isn’t marble at all but a cheaper substitute that won’t last, and the gilding

isn’t real gold it will start to flake and have to be replaced before long. And if you go down to

the store rooms you can already see cracks appearing in the plasterwork. But people don’t

notice, at least not yet, they love it.

Perhaps we should build another one. Or several.

Like Disney?

Yes like Disney. With other Empresses, other Psychopomps, other yous. Oh, Fran, what can I

do?

Come out with me and James. See a little of the country around here. Take a break from all

this.

Artemesia had arranged for Fran to be taken out by James and shown some countryside

surrounding The Palace of the Golden Moon. Some of these trips were official and consisted

of visits to schools, hospitals and factories with James always wearing the official robes of

The Psychopomp and followed by an entourage of officials and reporters. Artemesia always

made sure that there were reporters and camera crews. And there were always pictures of a

smiling James standing next to Fran as he cut a ribbon, or shook someone’s hand, or watched

a ring of children dancing round a pole. There was as Artemesia intended speculation in every

news report and trivial headines in every newspaper. ‘Psychopomp and Artist a New

Romance?’ and ‘The Painter and the PP!’ ‘James and Fran the Perfect Couple?’

Atremesia noted with satisfaction that if you switched on a radio, read the news or looked at a

magazine you were now more likely to see James’s face or hear James’s voice as that of The

Empress’s.

As well as official trips in big official cars there were also secret outings. The couple would

slip away unnoticed in a little blue Renault, owned by one of the cleaners, and take a picnic to

avoid stopping anywhere they might be recognised. Fran loved these outings as much as she

hated the others. James was always relaxed and amusing and always gave her time to herself

when she just wanted to sit down and sketch the landscape, or a particular building or tree that

had caught her attention.

So it was that early one morning before the palace was fully awake the three of them, Em and

Fran crouched down on the back seat, drove away in the blue Renault unnoticed. It had rained

! 107

in the night but the morning was clear and bright. It was still too early in the year for the trees

to start losing their leaves and they looked as fresh and green as they had in spring time,

though many of the fields were now just a sandy stubble after mowing and some of the

smaller farms still piled the hay into stacks, like small golden domes spread out across the

fields.

Where are we going? asked Em leaning over from the back seat.

It’s too far to go to the mountains and we can’t go through any towns or cities or someone is

bound to notice us. So I thought we might go to the heath. There’s a huge expanse of rolling

heathland to the north. I drove through it when I first came here.

As soon as he spoke the words he regretted them. He saw a clear image of shoes and boots

scattered over the road and an old man lying at the bottom of a slope of loose earth. He had

spoken without thinking and Artemesia would be furious. There should be no return to the

scene of the accident. No risks, no chances. But they were in a different car and the incident

had been ‘dealt with’, there was no risk, or so James thought. So when Em and Fran said,

That sounds beautiful. Let’s go there, he agreed.

OK, we should be able t100o get there, have a picnic and be back by early evening.

As soon as they were on a quiet road out of sight of the palace James stopped the car and Em

insisted that Fran sat in the front with James while she stretched out on the back seat. As they

drove Fran and James chatted about places they had both visited, art galleries and art. He said

he had a small collection of his own. Mostly landscapes. And mostly nineteenth or early

twentieth century.

I guess I could afford to buy some of the big names but I find it more fun to find work by

artists I’ve never heard of before.

Like who? Who do you like?

James laughed. Now you’ve put me on the spot. I can’t actually remember many of the

names. I look through auction catalogues and think I like that picture without taking much

notice . But I’ve recently become interested in the Group of Seven and I’ve just bought a

painting of pines by Tom Thompson. Do you know the Group Seven?

I know of them Tom Thompson and I love the work of Emily Carr. Especially those amazing

totem pole paintings.

They chattered on about art while Em soon lost interest gazed out of the window. The wind

from the open window ruffled her hair and as she watched the fields and vineyards, orchards

grey stone barns, whitewashed farmhouses and cottages stream by she wondered about the

people who lived in these houses and shaped the land she was seeing. What kind of lives did

they lead? Were they happy being tied to the land and every day of every year going through

the same routines of planting, ploughing, harvest, caring for their animals? What looked

beautiful and serene to her as she passed in the car could be harsh and cruel beneath. Always

the threats of failed harvests, floods, disease, drought. And weren’t they lonely so far from the

towns and cities with only the nearby village that might have one shop and one bar or café full

of old men? It puzzled her that these thoughts had drifted into her mind, as though they did

belong to her, like smoke from a fire in a neighbour’s garden. With them came another

thought, one the frightened and disturbed her and she quickly supressed it by leaning over the

seat and interrupting the conversation between Fran and James. She had thought as she looked

at the farms and houses, these do no belong to the people who live in them. They are mine. I

own them. I am The Empress. They are all mine and I can do what I want with them. I could

build a new city here on thon this land, with shops and cafes and theatres and museums and

wonderful shining new buildings, and parks instead of fields. Would that make the people

happier? Would it make me happy?

Is it much further now? What do you think is in the picnic?

Just questions to stop herself thinking.

! 108

Fran passed the question to James.

Is it far?

No. You see that line of hills ahead, that’s the start of the heath and once the road climbs up

high enough to give us a good view we can start to look for a place to stop.

That’s one question answered. Let’s leave the other one. Let’s surprise ourselves when we

open the picnic. Don’t you think it’s good not to think about nice things sometimes and just let

them happen as if you had never expected them?

They picnicked on a small hill not far from the place where the accident had occurred;

although James would not have known where that was. There was nothing to identify it, it was

just a bend in the road like so many others. The picnic had been ordered the night before and

James had collected it the night before. The huge picnic basket was as big as a suitcase and

hardly fitted into the boot of the car. There were mats to sit on, a square of yellow oilcloth to

spread on the ground, china plates, silver knives and forks and crystal glasses. There was

chicken and ham and salami, salad, fruit, and cakes and chocolate, and juice and cold

sparkling wine. Far more than the three of them could eat, some of the containers were put

back into the basket unopened. After they had eaten and packed the remains of the picnic back

into the basket they walked to the top of the hill. In one direction they could see the road they

had come by snaking down the hill and then stretched out into a straight line across the plain

below. They saw the farms and fields tiny and distinct as though looking down on a model

landscape spread out on a table. A small castle with grey towers stood like a rock surrounded

by green orchards and meadows. Both James and Fran recognised it, but said nothing. In the

other direction the spread of purple grey heather of the heath stretched away into the distance

flecked by the green and silver of gorse and birch. Ropes of cloud the colour of ash were

strung out across the sky and the shafts of sun that slanted down between them patched the

heath with light.

Look horses!

Em pointed to where in the distance the dark shape of a line of riders could be seen strung out

across a ridge.

Yes. I wonder what they are doing. They’re so still, it’s as if they’re watching us.

Perhaps they are.

But it’s so far away.

They might have binoculars or something. Anyway, I think it’s time we were heading back.

None of them said anything but each felt there was something odd, even threatening, about

the strange stillness of the horses and their riders. It was as if something was almost ready to

happen, to break like the tension before a clap of thunder or a glass hitting a stone floor. It was

as though they were seeing the glass frozen in mid-air.

Fran was thinking of a painter sitting in a makeshift studio in the loft above her parents’ house

and staring at a blank canvas. From below came the sound of angry voices and a breaking

glass. The canvases that were propped against the wall were all bad copies of paintings in the

books that littered the floor.

James could not shake from his mind the image of a road strewn with worn out boots and

shoes, among them a scarlet patent leather court shoe with what seemed an impossibly long

stiletto heel which stood out from among the greys and browns . He tried thinking of

possible, more interesting, routes back to the palace but always the road and the red shoe

returned to haunt him.

! 109

Em was remembering when she was much younger and went with her parents to visit an

elderly – at least through the eyes of a child she seemed elderly - friend of the family. Em was

given a glass of orange juice and then the old woman – who may only have been in her mid

fifties or early sixties – brought out a doll’s house and set it down on the carpet in front of Em.

It was a replica of a dove grey Georgian Town House complete with a a basement and fronted

by a row of spike topped railings, and steps leading up to a black front door complete with

portico, fanlight and a tiny brass knocker.

When the front of the house swung open each room was filled with perfect replica furniture

and fittings. Fireplaces with carved surrounds, floral patterned wallpaper, oriental rugs on

polished wooden floors. It was all perfect, from the kitchen in the basement to the nursery at

the top. Perfect too were the little family that inhabited the house; Father dressed in

embroidered coat and britches and wearing a powdered wig, Mother in a flowing cotton day

dress with hooped skirt and a muslin cap, a little boy, a baby in the nursery and a maid in

white apron and cap in the basement. Em had gazed at it in wonder.

Can I keep it?

No, but you can play with it for an hour as long as you are careful.

If I can’t keep it. I don’t want it! Em had shouted and flung down her glass with such force

that it broke into pieces, a dark stain spreading out from the juice as it soaked into the carpet.

This was the first time she had been able to clearly remember anything of her past life.

On the way back James tried to lighten the mood. He talked about how popular the arms ban

had been among the mass of the people but what they had really loved was the order to wear

silly hats.

It was not an order, said Em, just a suggestion.

Millions of messages had poured in asking for it to be made an annual event.

I can see why, said Fran, The people were asked to do something simple and easy that

brightened their lives. Governments made laws that might be good but they were often distant

and abstract and surrounded by complicated paperwork and form filling. They never said to

everyone relax, have fun, do this you might enjoy it. Only you could do that Em because

you’re still young and that’s what young people do best; have fun. If some grown up politician

had said it then people would have been very suspicious. Isn’t that so James?

James agreed and then slowed the car down because up ahead the road was blocked by a flock

of sheep being driven along by a shepherd and his dogs. The flock was too big and too closely

packed for the car to force its way through so James just slowed to walking pace and crawled

along behind it.

This could take forever!

Don’t worry James we have plenty of time. Just call and say we are going to be late. Is there

anything important that we have to be back for?

The usual round of meetings. But I guess there’s nothing that can’t wait.

Do you know what my favourite sheep painting is? asked Fran.

No idea. Tell us.

It’s called Portrait of a Lady by Jamie Wyeth 101. It was painted in the 1960s and is of a sheep

in a dark almost black landscape against a parchment coloured sky. The sheep has a black face

and golden eyes and that kind of long curly fleece like dreadlocks. She looks so funny and

aristocratic. More like an afghan hound than a sheep. Look it up online.

The shepherd began herding the sheep off the road and into the yard of a low shed like

windowless building with some offices attached. A caravan and some white vans were parked

outside. Behind the building were holding pens and it was into these that the sheep were being

! 110

herded. An unpleasant fetid smell filled the air and the quickly wound up the windows of the

car.

James was about to accelerate and drive on when Em said suddenly,

Stop! What is that building?

I don’t know. A barn? Shall we go on?

I want to go and see.

Please don’t.

They all knew what the building was but no one wanted to say it out loud.


Em said the words without understanding why. All she knew was that for some reason if she

backed down she backed down she would be doing something cowardly and dishonest that

she would hate herself for.

Em it’s best not to. said Fran.


Please Em.

I want to go and see. I am The Empress and I will go and see what happens in that building.

Very well Your Majesty, said James dryly, and swung the Renault into the yard and parked

alongside the vans.

When they stepped out of the car the stench was overpowering. Fran retched.

A man in a bloody apron came out of the shed. When he saw the old Renault he shouted,

Hey! You can’t… Then he recognised James. His eyes widened and his mouth opened and

closed silently like a fish gasping for air as he struggled to find an apology.

I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t recognise you. You’re the, the Psychopomp!

Artemesia would have been delighted that it was James that the man recognised and only

became aware of Em when James added,

And this is The Empress.

At first they thought the man was going to drop down on his knees in the filthy gravel car

park, but instead he recovered himself, wiped his hands on his soiled apron, bowed and said,

This is a privilege! Such a privilege! What can I do for Your Majesty?

I should like to look around this… this place.

The man looked confused and stammered,

Are you sure Ma’am? I mean it’s a …

It’s a what?

It’s a slaughterhouse! I mean an abattoir. I mean a food processing plant.

Yes, I know and I want to look around.

The man smiled and his confusion evaporated, as though he thought The Empress had a

genuine interest in his profession.

I would be delighted to show you around. Delighted! This is one of the most advanced and

most humane processing plants in the country. We produce the finest meat to be sold in the

shops for people to eat. 102 William! Bring your camera! We no longer use the old fashioned

stun guns. We’ve moved on from those days. We use the electric tongs. A fatal shock through

the brain. Instant, effective and humane. We have a certificate from The Veterinary

Commission. Would you like to see it?

All the while the penned sheep bleated pitifully in the background.

No thank you. Just show me around.

I’d be delighted. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you are showing an interest in our

trade. You would be surprised how many people don’t want to know when I tell them about

my work. William, where’s that camera! I’m sorry but I will have to ask you to wear

overshoes in the plant. That’s the rules. And everyone has to follow the rules. Even

! 111

Empresses. But I don’t think you need to put on the suit. Not as it’s you. Is that alright? I’m

sure we can make an exception if you like.

I will wear the overshoes, but please no photographs.

Very good Ma’am. William! No camera! We don’t want no camera! Now which end would

you like to start? The fridges where the processed animals are ready to be sent off, or the high

care – that’s what we call it – end where the animals go in to start their journey through the

process?

I’ll go through with the sheep. The ‘high care’ end please.

Very well, this way please. I’ll get you the overshoes. William! Three pairs of shoes!

Just one pair. My friends are staying here.

Please Em! Please let me come with you.

I don’t think you should go alone. Let’s do it together, said James.

No this is something I want to do alone.

William! Just one pair of shoes!

William, a fat fair-haired boy with red cheeks, and wearing a long white coat flecked with red

came running over to his boss carrying a pair of plastic overshoes. Em slipped them on and

the three of them went into the building leaving James and Fran standing beside the blue

Renault.

Let’s sit inside, said Fran, and see if you can find something on the radio to drown the sound

of those bloody sheep.

It was almost an hour before Em and her guide returned. She thanked the man in the bloody

apron and got into the car. There were tiny spots of red on her blue cotton shirt.

The man bowed and said in a stage whisper to James and Fran,

She’s marvellous! So interested! She asked so many questions. Marvellous. We all love The

Empress! We really do!

The car had not gone more than a mile or two down the road when Em asked James to pull

over. She got out and was violently sick among the bushes at the side of the road.

The drove on in silence until Em said,

It’s all over isn’t it? It’s all over before it’s even started.

James and Fran tried to reassure her; tell her everything would be fine again tomorrow, but

she had not been speaking to them.

She’s going to make the world go vegetarian? Really?

Yes, she’s going to issue the proclamation this afternoon.

That’s excellent. It will be absolute chaos. Enough to start a revolution, perhaps. The farmers

will be devastated. So many many people will be put out of business; no more leather jackets,

no more leather shoes. Imagine a world without cows, pigs, chickens… She is including

chickens?

Yes, but not fish. At least not yet.

Even better. If the whole world turns to eating fish it will be an environmental catastrophe; it

will destroy the oceans. Tread carefully James, resist but make sure she goes ahead.

It’s too late to stop her now anyway. And I don’t think I could change her mind even if I

wanted to.

What about the arms stockpile, has it moved to Mayoria Borracho?

! 112

Yes, surprisingly the ban on weapons hasn’t caused the economic collapse I expected. At least

not yet. Most of the big manufacturers and dealers have gone over to the break up, dispersal

and recycling of weapons, and are doing very well out of it for the time being. Naturally

Mayoria Borracho is so brimful of arms that the islanders can hardly move but our people

there seem to have control of things. We don’t want the President getting his hands on it all.

Good. All we have to do is wait. For the time being the sainted ‘empress’ is still unbelievably

popular. But that will change, it always does. James, there is someone I want you to meet. The

doctor from that hospital I visited. The one who dealt with the typhus outbreak. It will be very

good publicity for you and for the Foundation if you meet her and say thanks for the good

work she’s done.

Artemesia had decided it was time end any speculation about the relationship between Fran

and James and have the media focus on someone else. Dr Fell would be perfect. James

McQuarry and Heroic Doctor would make a good headline. It was time for the artist to return

to the USA.

James had had long discussions with The Empress about her decision to issue the

Proclamation on Vegetarianism. It could not really be enforced so it came in the form of an

emotional appeal, gradually increasing taxes on meat products that were intended to make the

production of meat uneconomic and much stricter animal welfare laws. James had pointed out

the damaging effects all these could have on farmers and rural communities but he knew The

Empress was not going to be moved. Since her visit to the slaughterhouse she had changed,

much of the time she seemed distant as if lost in thought. In fact, much of the time she felt as

if she had been numbed by the experience, she had not been able to recover the energy and

confused emotion that had swept her along before. But sometimes emotion would burst

through and she would talk passionately about the good she could do as Empress and how

much there was to change and how little time she had.

The people now expected each major proclamation to be accompanied by another, something

lighter and more fun and before these had been spontaneous and almost involuntary but the

decree that everyone should take advantage of the first day of fine weather wherever they

were and go out for a picnic lacked that impetuous element that people had responded to so

strongly in the first decrees.

The picnic is a little less original that the previous proclamations, don’t you think.

Artemesia and James were walking down a wide flight of stone steps that led down to the

famous Caves of Ice where TRUDI and her Custodian were lodged.

It still went down very well with the crowd.

Yes, but I thought the cheers were a little less enthusiastic than previously. I think we may

expect a gradual cooling as time goes on.

But the people still love her just as much.

Wait and see how this vegetarian thing goes. I think we might find that there are many people

who love a bacon sandwich or a good hamburger rather more than the love their ‘empress’.

At the foot of the stairs they found themselves standing in front of an iron door. In the centre

of the door was a glass plate and a sign that said, PLACE YOUR RIGHT HAND FLAT ON

THE GLASS. Artemesia placed her hand on the glass. As she did so a red light flashed above

the glass plate. ENTRY DENIED.

James you try.

James placed his hand on the glass.

ENTRY DENIED.

James I thing we are going to have to do something about this.

! 113

The turned away and climbed back up the stone stairs; as they did so a camera high on the

wall swung around and tracked their movements.

The poison weeds.

I can remember lying pile of sacks in the back of a closed van. In the dark I could feel the

scrape of coarse sacking on my skin and Indigo’s soft warm fur pressing against my face. But

that is all I remember of the journey. My next memory is of waking up a plain white walled

room with a high vaulted roof, single arched window high on the wall. I lay on a narrow

wooden bed and the wound on my shoulder had been cleaned and re-bandaged. There was no

sign of Indigo or my bag. I tried to recall what fragments of memory I had after my capture in

the market, but I could only be sure of being carried away in the van. There was an image of a

woman in a white jacket cutting away my shirt and wiping away the blood with a cold damp

cloth, but I could not be sure if it had really happened or if it was only part of a confused

dream. Besides the bed the only furniture was a cupboard and a wooden table on which stood

a white enamel jug a mug and a plate of sandwiches. On a chair next to my bed were some

clean clothes, blue jeans, black tee shirt and black cotton jacket. I lay for some time taking in

my surroundings, trying to piece together what had happened to me, how long I had been

lying in the room and why I had been brought here. From the appearance of the room I

assumed that I must be in the castle belonging to the Duke d’Este, and I felt the taste of bitter

disappointment when I thought that Milan’s treachery that had brought me here.

I eased myself out of bed and got dressed, then sat down at the table to eat before examining

the room. I had been left cold chicken, cheese sandwiches and a tomato salad. I had eaten

nothing in the last twenty four hours and finished everything on the plate before I stood up

and walked over to try the door. It was locked. Another door opened into a windowless

shower and toilet. I went back to the main door and banged on with my fists and shouted, but

nobody came and I heard no sounds outside. It was a solid wooden door and could not be

forced so I went back, lay down and stared up at the window and the little tent of blue that

was the sky. 103 Some time later I heard steps, a key turned in the lock and the door opened. A

man in a plain black suit and white shirt entered the room carrying a tray. A much larger man,

I thought I recognised him as one of men who captured me in Kristina market, followed,

closed the door stood in front of it while the other collected the empty plate, refilled the water

jug and left more sandwiches.

Where am I? I stood up and asked Why have I been brought here? What do you want from

me?

Neither of the men replied to any of my questions. The big man opened the door, let the other

pass through then followed and locked the door behind him. I went back to the bed and lay

down; there as nothing else to. I could not even look out of the window it was too high up on

the wall. If I stood on the chair I might be able to reach the sill, but with my injured shoulder I

knew I would not be able to pull myself up. It is not being imprisoned that brings the terrible

feelings of fear, misery and despair it is the knowledge that you are imprisoned; while I was in

hospital I was as good as imprisoned by my injury, but there I felt only frustration that I could

not leave. Now I was tortured by anxiety; where was Indigo? What had happened to my black

! 114

bag? The more I tried to push these thoughts away the stronger they became, so instead I tried

to look outwards and examine my surroundings.

The senses always seek distraction, there is never silence, if the ears are blocked to everything

external then the pulse and the push of the blood sounds like the thump and splash of some

great water pump. When you have been starved of food and drink then the first sip of water is

full of taste, of salts and minerals, even the coldness seems to have a taste of its own. So as I

stared at the walls and ceilings they became first a map and then a landscape; first each scratch

and line was a road or a railway and then the uneven roughness of the stone made mountain

ranges and the mortar between the blocks river valleys. As I explored this country of stone

and plaster and paint I became aware of another world of sounds, the soft background noise

and buzz of the world that we usually don’t have time to hear, that is drowned by our chatter,

our music, the rattle of our machines and even our thoughts. Now in the silence of my prison

these unheard sounds came soft and clear, the distant cawing of rooks, the scuttle of a mouse

beneath the floor, the breath of the wind across the window, and the muffled sound of a voice

in another room. The voice focused my attention; all else vanished. I could barely hear them

they were just a faint hum that seemed to be coming from the bathroom. I got up tried to find

the source of the voices. Once inside the bathroom they were clearer. The pipes from my

washbasin and shower probably joined those in the bathroom adjoining mine and were

carrying sound from the room beyond. I lay down on the cold tiled floor and pressed my ear to

the pipe. At first the voice was faint yet clear.

All men hate the thing they… the thing they kill. No. No. That won’t do. Love it should be

love. All men love the … they the… thing… thing they kill. Yes. That’s good. Now where do

we go from there?

The voice strange slow lilting drawl with each word carefully enunciated as if the man in the

next room was on stage and addressing a rather dim, or hard-of-hearing, audience. I could also

hear his footsteps on the stone floor. The speaker seemed to be composing a poem as he paced

up and down his room. The voice came clear and then faded as he passed his bathroom door.

….. knew what hunted thought

………….. and why……….

He looked ………….arish day

With such a ……….

The man had killed the thing he loved

……………. had to die. 104

I tried rapping on the pipes with my knuckles but it hurt my hand and I only managed some

feeble taps too faint to be noticed in the adjoining room. Lying on the floor was making my

shoulder ache so I returned to my room. Knowing there was someone in the next room had

completely changed things and given me some hope, some purpose where previously I had

none. But was the person in the room next to mine another prisoner, a guest, a servant or the

owner of my prison himself? I did not know the answer to these questions but I could try to

find out the answer; I looked around to find something solid to bang against the pipe. There

was only the jug, the plate and the mug. The mug seemed perfect for the job. I picked it up

and returned to the bathroom. I lay on the floor again and tried to wriggle myself into a

position where I could comfortably use the mug to bang on the pipes. Then I became aware

that I could now hear two voices; not just the one. The second voice sounded cultured, calm

and balanced but with, perhaps I imagined it, an undertone of menace. The two men must

have been standing near the door to the bathroom as I could hear both voices clearly.

! 115

… sorry but you cannot leave until we have settled the matter of what you owe.

Then the slow drawl,

I have made it a rule never discuss neither the squalid nor the beautiful without a glass of hock

and seltzer. Order me a hock and seltzer! 105

I will order you nothing until you agree to what I ask.

One sentence of mine is worth more than all that you claim I owe you. But you shall not have

it. You shall not have my words or my money. Not money – for I have none – my property –

for it is already mortgaged – nor my work, for that is mine and mine alone.

Very well, then you shall remain here until you change your mind. As I am sure you will. I

will return in two days and we can have another of our delightful talks.

Excellent! I find this is the perfect place to work; there are so few distractions. And there is no

rent to pay. I am writing about being imprisoned and to write being imprisoned is to be free.

An odd paradox, don’t you think? You can leave me now I have some lines to polish. And the

portrait of your last wife, I was much taken with it. So lifelike, so perfect, so ageless, so

unlike a real person. It has given me an idea for a novel. I have so much to do.

No need to lock the door, I won’t be leaving. A cultured man, a civilized man – I won’t say a

good man or a kind man – an educated man would send me a hock and seltzer. Is it too much

to hope for? But if you don’t I shall forgive you. Nothing annoys one’s enemies as much as

being forgiven.

I heard steps and a heavy door creak open and then close.

It is a sad world indeed without even the hope of hock and seltzer. Now where was I? Yes,

I never saw a man who looked

With such a wistful eye

Ah, wistful eye, very good, very apropos.

I heard him start to pace up and down the room again and his words faded and returned as he

passed the door.

And at every drifting ……

……… sails of silver by.

I walked, with other ….

…………ther ring,

And was wonder…….

……………..the man had done

………… or little thing

I banged on the pipes with my tin cup. The steps stopped their pacing. I banged again, several

times in quick succession. I shouted too, Hello! Hello! Can you hear me?

I only knew what hunted…. Oh, God what’s that noise? What hellish new torture is this, that

has been devised to distract me? Is there no peace for me, not even in a prison cell? Stop!

Stop! Go away! I shall fill my ears with… with something. I shall become deaf to everything

except my inner voice.

I heard him push his bathroom door tightly shut. It seemed futile to continue banging on the

pipes, and I had realised beyond just exchanging the knowledge that we were both prisoners

there was probably little to learn that could improve our situation. It was clear the man in the

! 116

next room did not want to be interrupted. But I found just the fact that it was possible to

communicated with another person, another prisoner, reassuring.

I returned to lie on my bed and explore the landscape of my room.

It had gone dark and I had turned on the light. A single clear light-bulb that hung from the

ceiling. I thought I might be able to send a message to someone outside by switching the light

on and off, but I knew no morse or other code. I tried to remember SOS; I had seen it written

down somewhere, dot dot dot dash dash dash dot dot dot. Or was it dash dash dash dot dot

dot dash dash dash? I was wondering about this when the door opened and the man who had

cleared away my plates came in and said,

The Duke wants to see you, please follow me. Outside the door stood a big man with close

cropped hair wearing a dark suit, slate grey shirt and black tie. I recognised him as the other

man who had helped to drag me to van in Kristina market. We walked sown a short white

walled windowless corridor with about half a dozen rooms on either side, each with a heavy

wooden door. At the end of the corridor was another locked door; my guide unlocked it and

the three of us passed through into a long carpeted landing that led to a flight of wooden stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs was a door that opened into a vast hall, we crossed the hall and my

guide knocked on a door.

I heard a voice say, Come in! I recognised it as the cultured yet threatening

voice I had heard in the room next to mine.

We entered a room lined from ceiling to floor with bookshelves; a man in a black suit and

open collared white shirt sat at a long oak table. I would have guessed his age to be

somewhere around fifty.

His carefully combed black hair had begun to grey at his temples.. His eyes were black, set

deep and gleamed in the bright light of the chandelier that hung above the table. On the table

stood a huge steel cage and in the cage was Indigo. Her face was cut and bleeding and there

was blood too on her clawed hands. Beside the cage lying on the table was my black bag.

When Indigo saw me she flung herself against the side of the cage biting and scratching at the

bars with a pitiful hissing shriek.

Let her go! I started forward but the big man gripped my arm and forced me down into a

chair.

Let her go! I yelled.

Please calm down, said the Duke, and tell me what it is you want.

I want you to open that cage! Set her free!

But why? There is nothing in it. It is just an empty cage. Do you see anything in the cage

Aleksandr?

Aleksandr looked puzzled and hesitated before answering as though he suspected the

question was some kind of trick or trap.

No Sir, it is empty.

Anton, do you see anything.

No sir. The cage is empty.

There you are. You are literally making a fuss about nothing. Now I am going to ask

Aleksandr and Anton to leave the room, but they will be just outside the door and will come

instantly if I call. Isn’t that so?

Yes Sir.

So I don’t want you do do anything silly that might open that wound of yours which we have

just taken so much trouble to clean and bandage.

He nodded and the two servants left the room.

Indigo continued to shriek and tear at the bars of the cage.

! 117

Please calm down your catape. You can put your hands through the bars if you like.

Indigo. Poor Indigo!

I stood and leant across the table. I thought of wrenching open the door and freeing Indigo but

I saw it was locked with a small but substantial combination lock, so I stretched my hand

through the bars and stroked her bloody fur. I could feel her body shivering beneath my touch

but she calmed down and lay against the side of the cage her head resting on my hand.

Indigo I promise I’ll get you out of this disgusting cage. I promise.

I could feel my eyes filling with tears.

Would you like me to open the cage?

Of course I would! Why are you keeping me and Indigo prisoner like this? I have done

nothing to harm you.

First, you are not a prisoner…

Then why was my door locked?

It is true that your door was locked but that was for your own good. We did not want you

leaving before you were strong enough to do so safely. The doctor who treated your wound

told me that you had already run away from hospital before it was fully healed. But if you

really want to leave, of course you can. Where would you like to go? I’ll call Aleksandr and

have him drive you there.

I’m not leaving without Indigo. Open the cage!

But there is nothing in the cage. The cage is empty. You came with nothing. You can leave

with nothing.

You can see Indigo as well as I can. Open the cage.

I do have an imagination. You are right. I can imagine that there is something in the cage.

Something of yours that you want back. To get it back is very simple. There are four numbers

that open the cage. You give me what I want and I’ll tell you the numbers. It’s that easy.

What is it that you want?

I want you to explain this.

He picked up the black bag and tossed it across to me.

I expected it to land with a thud on the wooden table because of the weight of the gun inside

but instead it landed with a faint rustle.

I’ve been told that this bag of yours has some very unusual properties, but when I examined it

I found it was empty. Just an ordinary bag with nothing inside, not even a handful of dead

leaves.

What do you want me to do?

Tell me how it works.

I don’t know!

But I think you do know something. Please look inside now.

I put my hand into the bag. There was no gun, but there were things inside, thin and brittle

things that crackled beneath my fingers. I took out a handful of dead leaves.

Are you trying to make a fool of me?

I never know what is going to come out of the bag.

Really? But it is interesting, I am sure that the bag was empty when I gave it to you and yet

you pulled out something, even if it was only dead leaves. But perhaps that was fake, just

slight of hand and you are clever magician.

Throw the bag over to me.

I tossed him the bag. He felt inside. Turned it inside out. Examined it very carefully and then

tossed it back to me.

Empty. Just as it was when I first looked at it. Now let’s try a little experiment. I want you to

imagine that you are going to take out tomorrow’s newspaper. Think hard. Remember what is

at stake. You do want me to give you those numbers, don’t you?

! 118

There was a newspaper in the bag, but it was confetti. I tipped the bag and thousands of tiny

pieces of torn newspaper poured out on to the table and spilled over to the floor.

This is really annoying. Perhaps you need some kind of incentive. I seem to remember that

you did find some very interesting ointment when you wanted it. Now look at your poor

catape…

Indigo lay curled on the floor of the cage.

… see how she has cut her face on some sharp corner as she bit at the bars. Perhaps you have

something in the bag to heal those cuts?

I longed to find some thing to ease Indigo’s suffering but all I took out was a handful of red

dust. I let it trickle through my fingers on to the polished wood table.

I can’t help you. Please just let us go.

I’m sorry that will not be possible until you are a little more cooperative. I’m sure in time we

can find some way to make this work. And I have plenty of time. But you may not. Look at

the state of you poor catape. If she carries on like that she will really damage herself. And it

will be entirely your fault. Each man kills the thing he loves as another of my guests is fond of

saying. Please don’t prove him right. Now I think you should return to your room and think

about what I’ve said. See if you can come up with some way of helping me. Alexandr!

Alexandr, this young gentleman would like to return to his room. Oh, Alexandr, there’s no

need to lock the door, the young man is free to leave whenever he wishes.

As I left Indigo shrieked and jumped up throwing herself at the bars of the cage, biting and

tearing at the metal.

Indigo. Don’t do that! I’ll get you out I promise!

But she took no notice of my words and continued to cry and scratch at the bars with bleeding

claws.

I was tortured by feelings of impotence and frustration. There was nothing I could do. I

would have gladly shown the Duke how the bag worked or pulled from it whatever he

wanted. But I could not. I had no control over the bag whatsoever, but I could think of no way

I could convince him of this. There is no way I can think of to describe the pain of being

powerless while someone or something you love is suffering. It was far, far worse than the

pain of being stabbed. With my wound I knew all I could do was wait for it to heal; there were

things I could do to help the process, lie still, take my medicine and so on, but these were all

things that had affected me directly, now I needed to act to save another, and could think of

nothing. Nothing except futile gestures. Soon after Aleksandr had left I tried the door, the

Duke had not lied, it was unlocked. I thought of fleeing the castle and going off in search of

help, but Anton was standing at the end of the corridor.

Can I help you? he asked, If you would like to leave I have instructions to show you out and

take you to wherever you wish to go, but I am afraid you cannot wander freely around the

castle unless you have permission, this way leads to the Duke’s private apartments.

I did not reply and simply returned to my room. What would be the point of leaving? Where

could I find the kind of help I needed? If I returned with anyone it was very likely they would

see just an empty cage and think me just crazy or sick. Even if I found someone who could

see Indigo what was to stop the Duke and simply hiding the cage away and denying he had

ever stolen her from me? I thought of asking the man in the next room for help, though I knew

it was useless. I went into my bathroom and could hear his voice, and the sound of his feet

pacing up and down the room.

Some love too little…

….., and others buy

! 119

…….. with many tears,

And some ……. a sigh:

For each man kills …..

…….man does not die.

That’s it. Much better

…..each man kills the thing he loves,

Yet each man does not die!

I banged on the pipes and shouted,

Please can you help me! Please listen!

The pacing stopped.

The creature in my bathroom again! The disembodied voice. Are you a genie? Can you bring

me hock and seltzer?

I just need help. The Duke is torturing a friend of mine. I don’t know what to do.

Please don’t tell me such things. I find them disturbing. What would you have me do? I am

quite powerless to help you. Please go away. You have interrupted me at a critical point in my

work, but I shall stay calm. I shall stay calm simply to irritate you. The last time you made

such an appalling noise I was forced to tear up a silk handkerchief and stop my ears. Please

leave me alone; I do not have an unlimited supply of silk handkerchiefs.

I had not expected help; I had acted out of desperation and the need to speak to someone,

someone who might possibly offer a sympathetic word. I went back into the passage where

Anton still stood blocking the door.

Tell the Duke I want to see him.

You will see the Duke when he is ready.

I want to see the Duke now!

The Duke has told me that he will send for you when he is ready to see you.

I went back into my room and threw myself on my bed. The Duke knew the torture of waiting

and used it only too well. I did not sleep that night. I paced the room making plans each

crazier and more impossible than the next. I would sneak up on Anton, knock him out, steal

his keys and free Indigo. I went as far as thinking I could use my enamel water jug as some

kind of weapon. I carefully opened my door and peeked down the corridor. Anton had gone,

but the door was securely locked. I thought that if I could reach the window that I might be

able to lower myself through. I could tie my bed sheets together to make a rope like they did

in the stories, climb down and escape. I had pushed the table beneath the window and placed

the chair on top of it before I realised how absurd it was; I was not a prisoner, I could call

Anton and he would lead me out of the castle just as promised. I was sure that he would even

have driven me to a police station, if I had asked him to, because what would be the point, I

had not been held prisoner and the cage was empty. It was very unlikely any policeman would

see Indigo. What had the Duke stolen from me? An empty black bag! I did not sleep that

night. I paced up and down my room until I was exhausted and collapsed on to my bed, where

I lay for an hour two until I had the strength to stand and start pacing the room again. I saw

the darkness beyond my window leach away as the sun rose until I could see blue sky

showing through a threadbare blanket of grey cloud. When Aleksandr arrived with my

breakfast, a bowl of some kind of porridge, I knocked it from his hand and screamed,

I want to see the Duke!

The Duke will see you when he is ready, was all he said.

It must have been only hour or two later, though it seemed much longer, when he returned and

told me.

! 120

The Duke will see you now.

Once again Alexandr and Anton led me down to the library, knocked on the door and then

pushed me inside. Indigo gave a pitiful screech as I entered and threw herself at the bars of the

cage. But I could see that her strength and energy were failing. She did not attack the cage

with the same intensity as she had when I was last in the room. The fur on her face was

matted with dark patches of dry blood and streaked with the scarlet of open cuts. I could not

bring myself to look at her broken claws and damaged bloody hands.

Indigo! I cried and ran to the table and stroked her damp fur through the bars until she settled

and I felt the frantic beating of her heart slacken as she lay down, pressed against the bars.

When I withdrew my hand it was red with her blood.

Here wipe your hand on this; the Duke tossed a white linen napkin across the table.

Let us go!

You are not a prisoner. I have told you this. You are making your own prison for yourself.

You know what you have to do. You look tired. Would you like me to get you a coffee?

There was something that sounded like genuine concern in his voice.

No. I have told you I have no idea how the bag works or what will be in it.

But the thing is that it does work. So far not very satisfactorily but we can keep trying. I

believe that if you really want to you can make it produce whatever you want. How exactly I

don’t know. I’m sure there is a rational explanation – there always is – but I am not interested

in explanations just in results. Shall we start? Please pick up the bag, and I suggest you try

once more to see if you can produce some healing balm. You can see how much your poor

catape is in need of it. I can’t stop her damaging herself in that senseless fashion. Now

concentrate.

There was nothing I wanted more than another jar of the balm that had healed Inknavar Marz

and would do the same for Indigo. I concentrated on this thought as hard as I could before

reaching into the bag and taking out a handful of grey ash.

The Duke sighed, Please try again.

Sand.

Tiny pieces of coloured plastic.

Feathers.

A tangle of what looked like black hair.

I am beginning to lose patience. Can you try and produce something useful.

I took out a handful of shiny silver woodscrews and let them rattle down onto the polished

surface of the table.

Do you really want to end up killing your precious catape? You will if you carry on like this. I

am not going to give up. Shall I tell you why? I had Aleksandr piece together those bits of

newspaper you pulled from your bag. It took him most of the night, but he did it. And you

may be surprised to learn that it really was tomorrow’s – or rather today’s newspaper. Isn’t

that amazing? Sadly by the time it was pieced together it was of no use. So, if you can pull out

something as extraordinary, and as valuable, as that once for me, you can do it again.

Now I think it is time for you to go back to your room. Think of your catape, your Indigo,

think long and hard. And tomorrow morning we will spend the whole day together working

with the bag. Go now, you need to rest and get some sleep to be ready for your work

tomorrow. If you cooperate I may even open the cage for a while. I’ll release the catape for

fifteen minutes for every useful thing you can pull from the bag. What do you say to that?

! 121

I said nothing and allowed myself to be led back to my room.

Alexandr brought me a plate of sandwiches and a mug of sweet tea; I could not eat the

sandwiches, though I had not eaten since the night before, but I greedily drank the tea.

Minutes later I was overcome with tiredness and managed to stagger across and fall onto my

bed. The ceiling started to slowly spin round as I looked up, my eyelids became too heavy to

hold open I closed my eyes and before I fell asleep I realised there must have been some kind

of sleeping drug in the tea.

I was awoken by someone gently shaking me. It must have been the middle of the night, the

light was on and everything was still and quiet. The shaking continued and it took some time

for me to shake off the stupefaction of sleep and the drug and before I realised that the person

leaning over my bed and shaking me was Milan.

You! You! Wake up! It’s me Milan. Hurry. Follow me! Be very quiet Anton is asleep outside.

I staggered to my sleep, still befuddled by sleep and followed Mi out of my room and down

the corridor. Come on, but we must be very quiet Anton is asleep in the hall. We crept quietly

along the corridor and past Anton asleep in a high backed leather chair, I could hear the

regular sound of his breathing that sounded unnaturally loud in the empty stone passageway,

the door at the end was unlocked.

I have the key to the library too. We made our way down the stairs and into the hall then

slowly tiptoed over to the library door. Mi took out a key and quietly unlocked the door.

I ws dreading that Indigo would shriek or rattle the cage when the light went on but she was

lying on the floor of the cage and barely stirred even when put my hand through the bars and

stroked her fur.

Do you know the code for the lock? I asked Mi.

No. What can we do? The cage is too big to move. Could we force the bars apart?

I shook my head.

They look too strong. We need some kind of cutters. Do you know where we could get some?

No. There is a tool shed outside but it is locked and I don’t have a key.

Do you have any idea what the combination could be?

No. It could be anything.

Is there a desk here? Perhaps it’s written down somewhere.

But I knew it would be hopeless to search. I remembered the Duke sitting across the table

from me and teasing me by saying But there is nothing in the cage. The cage is empty. You

came with nothing. You can leave with nothing, half smiling as spoke. Why did he smile like

that? Why did he taunt me like that? Was he telling me something? Something to do with the

code. What combination would one use to lock an empty cage?

You can leave with nothing

My hands shook as I spun the numbers 0000.

The lock clicked and opened.

I picked up the black bag that lay beside the cage. I could feel something heavy inside as I

went to pass it to Mi saying,

You take this, I’ll carry Indigo.

No, I’ll take it.

The Duke had silently entered the room while we were bent over the lock on Indigo’s cage,

and stood between us and the open door.

Give me the bag.

No.

Give me the bag. If you don’t I’ll simply call for Anton and take it from you.

! 122

The Duke approached me with an outstretched hand.

I slipped my hand into the bag, took out the rusty pistol and fired at almost point blank range.

There was an enormous explosion. The Duke shot backwards and collapsed against a book

lined wall, a dark spot in the centre of his white shirt. The dark stain grew and spread as I

stood shaking with the gun in my hand my ears ringing from the shot.

Hurry! cried Milan.

I stuffed the gun back in the bag and handed it to Mi, then lifted Indigo out of the cage,

clutched her to my chest and ran out of the library after Milan. The key was in the front door

and as Mi turned it I could hear shouts and the sound of running feet. We ran out of the door

and down the steps.

Here! I have a bike!

I climbed on the back of the motorbike behind Mi, the engine roared and we shot off throwing

up a spray of gravel behind us. I heard shouts and looking over my shoulder could see all the

windows of the castle were lit and men were waving torches as they came down the steps.

Milan sped down the driveway leading up to the castle and then out onto the road. I glanced

back and saw the headlights of a car coming after us.

Hold on tight! yelled Mi as he turned a corner and then swung the motorbike off the road and

bounced down a dirt track, killing the engine and the lights. We sat on the bike in darkness. I

held Indigo beneath my jacket and could feel her warmth and the fluttering of her heart

against my chest. We saw the yellow arc of headlights round the corner and two cars roared

past down the road.

Mi started the bike and we went back down the track to join the road and headed back past the

drive to the castle in the opposite direction to the cars.

We had better find somewhere to hide, shouted Mi, the whole country will be looking for us

very soon!

James and Fiona

Do you remember Claus Ferrara?

Of course, I’m not likely to forget am I? What about him?

He’s dead. He was shot. By one of his guests it seems.

That’s dreadful. He was so helpful when we had that problem on the road. I really liked him.

I didn’t, said Artemesia, and I’m sure we would have had to pay for his help at some point,

but he’s dead and I’m sorry for that. The interesting thing is that from what I hear this guest

had something that Claus wanted, and wanted very badly. Dr Fell knows something about it.

Dr Fell? That doctor I’m giving some kind of award to?

Yes, that one. For her heroic handling of the typhus outbreak. I think you’ll like her. In fact

I’ve arranged for the two of you to have dinner together after the ceremony. Now let’s talk

about how you are going to handle this vegetarian crisis. Since the proclamation there has

been chaos. Though it has had a lot of support in the cities the farmers are organising against

it. A small farm might be able to make the change to food crops but the big ones with herds of

thousands of cattle and sheep, what do they do? And those dreadful factory farms with 30,000

pigs or a poultry farm with over a million birds what can they do with the animals?

A million chickens? In one farm?

Yes, and some many more than that. You can’t just destroy animals like you can armaments

and you certainly can’t just release them to wander around the countryside. You have to look

after them until they die of old age. That’s not too long for chickens. Well around eight years I

think. But twenty years, maybe longer for a cow? The ‘empress’ has tried to do in a day what

! 123

would take generations. No wonder the farmers are going crazy. They are talking of driving

all their animals here. Here to The Palace of the Golden Moon. That will be a sight!

What about the compensation scheme? Weren’t the farmers to be compensated and paid to

care for the animals?

Artemesia laughed.

Haven’t you heard? Our Minister of Finance has fled to Mayoria Borracho taking most of the

Treasury with him. We have started extradition proceedings, but I expect it to be a long and

difficult process. The ‘empress’s’ reign is descending into farce. You must be the voice of

reason. But don’t be too reasonable I want to see that army of sheep and pigs surround the

palace.

The Empress stood on the top of the tallest tower of the Palace of the Golden Moon looking

across to the snow capped mountains in the distance. Tears trickled down her face. She had

never felt this miserable. Usually she came up here with Fran, but Fran had returned to the

USA. Unknown to her Artemesia had arranged for her to received some urgent commissions

that needed an immediate start cutting short Fran’s planned stay in the palace.

Minutes before Em had been wondering what it would be like to leap from the parapet,

spread her arms and enjoy a few second of total freedom and exhilaration before she hit the

ground. But that thought of hitting the ground was enough to turn her gaze away from the

earth and up to the mountains. She had just come away from a painful interview with a

woman whose little boy had fallen out of a tree and injured himself so badly that it was

unlikely he would be able to walk again. It happened on the day of The Tree Climbing

Proclamation. Em had expected the woman to blame her for the accidents; to scream a tearful

accusation, but instead she quietly explained what had happened. The whole family all been

laughing about the proclamation, they had planned a picnic together in the trees but the little

boy had wandered off on his own and climbed the old apple tree at the bottom of the garden.

A rotten branch broke under his weight: he fell and hit his head on a rock.

I don’t blame you, the woman said, boys will always climb trees, proclamations or not, I just

wanted to tell you… I don’t know why.

And she started to cry. Huge silent sobs and her tears rolled down her cheeks and splashing on

the marble floor. Em said nothing and simply put her arms around the woman and held her

until the sobs subsided. The child comforting the mother in the only way she could.

Then there was the trouble that her Proclamation on Vegetarianism was causing. She was sure

she had done the right thing. She had seen the inside of the slaughterhouse: the whole horrible

process. It had to be the right thing. But it seemed it was more than just doing the right thing.

James had advised her to move slowly, take at least a few years to bring in changes, but then

he hinted that if she did not act now, do things immediately while she had the power then it

would probably never happen. She could not understand James, on the one hand he was

always advising restraint while on the other he was urging her to take action. But most of the

people were with her. Most of them hated the big factory farms with millions of animals in

tiny stalls. They saw it on the TV and on their computers and they supported her stand; it

really made little difference to them if they ate a real or a vegetarian sausage, and her

scientists had come up with some truly excellent vegetarian sausages. There was still the

problem of the animals. What to do with the animals? There must be a solution. There had to

be a solution. Surely TRUDI would find it? She had done the right thing. That was what

mattered. Since she had been Empress the world had become a better place. And it was going

to become even better… better…better.

She wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her shirt and went back down the narrow spiral

staircase.

! 124

The award ceremony for Dr Fell attracted as much attention as Artemesia had hoped. It was

covered my all major TV channels, newspapers and magazines throughout the world. James

was not in his role as Psychopomp but was there as head of The James McQuarry Foundation

and was dressed in a plain black suit with an open necked blue shirt. Dr Fell wore a simple

low cut red dress, not too short, not too long, with a black belt and black high-heeled shoes.

Her hair carefully styled in the fashion of her favourite movie star. Artemesia had gone to

great lengths to make the event more Hollywood than corporate award ceremony, with live

music, fireworks and a lavish lunch.

She had also given the address of the restaurant where James and Fiona Fell were to be dining

that evening to a few carefully chosen reporters, on condition that the did not enter the

restaurant and only took photographs of the couple entering and leaving. James and Fiona

certainly made a handsome couple, both tall and blonde and with instinctive sense of style.

Fiona was much more photogenic than Fran and she did not hesitate to play up to the cameras,

instead of trying to avoid them as Fran had done. James enjoyed Fiona’s company and found

her witty, charming and intelligent. He said he was sure that there would be lots of

opportunities within his organisation for her. In fact, he was thinking of setting up a

Foundation teaching hospital and would be looking for someone to manage that. They

arranged to meet again in a week’s time.

Moonlight Ribbon

Milan drove down a maze of country lanes some so narrow that there was little room for even

a single car and at times he would turn off on to unsurfaced roads, rutted and stony tracks. The

bike slipped and slithered its way along and several times I thought we were going to topple

over and clutched Indigo tightly to my chest.

Whenever he could Mi killed the lights on the motorbike and we rode by moonlight. He

stopped on to of a hill where we had an uninterrupted view of the surrounding countryside.

The plain was alive with the movement of shadow and light from the full moon that sailed

through the clouds above, and a warm wind ruffled my hair. I saw a sprinkling of static lights

from houses and farms and the moving yellow lights of car headlamps.

See all those cars? It’s now about two thirty in the morning. You would never normally see

cars on the road at this time. Well, one or two maybe, but not that many. They’re looking for

us. Best to stick to the back roads and tracks like this where the cars can’t go. They have

probably sent out some four by fours to go off road, but we can see those coming from miles

away.

What are we going to do? I asked.

We have to hide. I have some friends who own an inn not far from here. They will take care of

us.

How can you be sure?

I’m sure. Besides they had good reasons not to like the Duke. You will be welcome; don’t

worry. I’m going to take a short cut over the top. It’s open moorland and I don’t want to use

the lights because we could be seen from miles away. So it will be slow and slippy, but I think

there’s enough moonlight to find my way. Hold on tight!

! 125

He revved the engine and we slid off again down the dirt track throwing up a shower of grit

behind us. We bounced and skidded our way across the moor often at no more than walking

pace; at times in the hollows the track was muddy and deeply rutted and the wheels spun

wildly as they tried to grip and Mi had to use all his strength and skill to keep the bike

upright; in other places the track led over slabs of smooth rock too difficult to cross in the

dark, so we dismounted and wheeled the bike to firmer ground. But for the most part the track

was made of hard pressed earth or gravel and the going was easier than I could have hoped.

We had just slithered our way out of one of the muddy dips when I saw a flash of light ahead.

I tapped Mi on the shoulder and he came to a stop and switched off the engine.

I saw it, Probably a Landrover, he said, Help me push the bike off the track. Quick!

Two beams of light shone up through the darkness as the vehicle came up the slope towards

us. I helped Mi push the bike through the heather; we stumbled into a hollow, a rocky pit and

the bike tumbled of top us. We lay on our backs with the motorbike on top us and watched the

beams drop down and grow brighter as the Landrover came down into the dip we had just left.

I heard the growling of the engine rise to a higher pitch as it changed gear to cope with the

mud. As well as the headlights another thinner beam, like a searchlight scanned the moor to

either side of the track.

Someone on the roof with a flash light, whispered Mi, Keep down!

The beam of light swept across the hollow where we lay and clipped the tip of the bike’s

handlebar that rose just above the shallow pit. I heard Mi breathe in sharply, and I held my

breath, expecting at any second to hear someone shout and the Landrover to come to a halt,

but the handlebar went unnoticed among the tangled stems of heather and the lights passed by.

We breathed again.

Let it get out of sight before we start again. But this bike’s crushing me, help me get it out of

this hole. It took a lot of pushing and pulling to get the bike back on to the track again and by

the time we had done it all we could see of the Landrover were the two red pinpoints of its

rear lights and as we watched those vanished too. Before I got back onto the bike I took

Indigo out from under my coat. Her fur was matted and her hands crusted with dried blood.

She seemed to be gasping for breath and curled her tail weakly around my wrist.

Not too far now, said Mi, Let’s get moving. I climbed on the back of the bike, Mi started the

engine and we set off again. The track was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor* and

light enough for us to make good time, despite the potholes and loose earth. We came down

off the moor to where the unsurfaced track joined a narrow lane. Mi put the lights on and

increased speed.

Almost there! Mi cried, and moments later we pulled into the cobbled yard of an old inn. No

lights were on and the grey stone walls gleamed like dark wet slate in the moonlight.

Wait here, said Mi handing me my black bag while he wheeled the bike into what looked like

disused stables set a little way from the main body of the inn. When he returned he looked up

at the windows and whistled. He bent and searched for some pebbles and threw them up to

clatter against the glass. The sash slid up and a girl stuck her head out. 106

Who’s there? Oh it’s you. At this time of night, I should have guessed. Wait there and I’ll

come down.

Soon we heard the sound of bolts being drawn, a key turning in the lock and the door of the

inn opened. It was a girl in a white nightgown, long black hair falling over her shoulders.

Come in. Who’s your friend Mi?

This is You. Can you put us up for the night?

You? You and Mi? That’s good! Then her black eyes widened as she stared at me and said,

He isn’t the one who…. is he?

Yes, said Mi, He is. That’s why we need somewhere safe to stay tonight.

! 126

I wouldn’t wish anyone dead, but it was no bad thing you did, the girl said to me. Come this

way. And try to be quiet. I don’t want you to wake my Dad. And we must watch out for Tim

the ostler, he’s often sneaking about the place. I’ll tell him about you tomorrow.

She led us through the bar room and to a door that opened into a stone flagged kitchen and a

flight of stairs. When we passed through I noticed a portrait of The Empress hanging behind

the bar; she looked both distant and familiar and I shuddered when I though that this was the

face of the person I had come to kill.

We climbed the creaking wooden staircase and followed the girl down a corridor that led to

the back of the inn. She opened a door and showed us into a room with two beds, a wardrobe

and a chest-of-draws.

Have this room. We use it for staff when we get busy and need extra help. It’s very quiet now

so you’ll be fine. See.

She rubbed her finger along the top of the chest and showed us it was grey with dust.

I’ll bring your breakfast up to in the morning. Now I’m going back to sleep.

I asked if I could have some hot water and a cloth.

The girl looked at me curiously. She obviously could not see I was holding Indigo in my arms.

He’s hurt his shoulder Bess, said Mi.

Oh, alright. I see. I’ll get it for you. There’s a bathroom next door you can use and I can get

more hot water if you need it.

She returned with a bowl of steaming water and some squares of white cloth that looked like

table napkins. After she left I lay Indigo on the bed and began wiping away the blood around

her face and hands. The blood was dry and matted into her fur and difficult to wipe away

without hurting, but she did not flinch or cry out, only hissed quietly as I cleaned the cuts.

Soon the bowl was red with her blood and had to be refilled with clean water. The cuts around

her face were superficial but her hands where she had ripped at the bars of the cage were

badly damaged, the claws broken and cracked and the flesh torn and exposed. I cleaned them

up as best I could. When I had finished Indigo was still a pitiful sight and I thought of the

healing balm that had cured Mr Marz. I looked in my black bag but all that I could feel was

the cold metal of the gun. Though Indigo’s self-inflicted wounds looked piteous they were not

serious and yet I sensed there was something else wrong. Her captivity seemed to have

drained all her spirit, as though she had given herself over despair and lacked the will to heal

herself. Her purple blue indigo eyes had faded to a paler blue though they still contained

something of the original intensity. She weakly hissed her thanks then curled up on my bed

and slept. I stretched out beside her. Now we were safe and undisturbed I was able to ask

Milan the questions that had been at the back of my mind ever since we had fled the castle.

Mi, what happened on the heath when I was attacked? Where were you when I woke up? Was

it you who told the Duke about my black bag?

Mi sat on his bed and looked down at the floor as if were ashamed to meet my eyes.

You were still asleep when they came, he said quietly, I had left the shelter and had gone to

the spring for water, on my way back I found myself surrounded. I told you I do work for all

kinds of people and I knew Katie Katz. She had come to the area a few weeks before with her

band of riders. I met them on the road and helped them find the best places to camp out on the

heath, the hidden shelters, the fresh water springs. No one knows the place better than I do.

They are strange You. They seem like children, but they are not children. I don’t know how to

describe them.. except that there is something unreal about them. They live on cherries, they

run wild. 107 Didn’t you feel that?

I remembered the boy with the knife and the circle of riders. There was as Mi said, something

strange and different about them.

! 127

They were moving on to the hill country beyond the heath and wanted me to guide them.

They had a horse ready and would not let me go back to the shelter. One fetched my bag and

another, I think he was just curious, saw your bag and went to steal it.

Just curious! He would have killed me Mi. Killed me while the others stood by and watched.

Yes, that is partly what I mean. They are like wild animals. They don’t mean any harm but

they are dangerous. Often they act suddenly and without thinking; they can be cruel but also

very kind and generous. I don’t know where they came from or what they are doing here. I

Asked the leader, the red headed girl but all she could tell me was her name, ‘I am Katie Katz.

Disobedience is liberty. The obedient are be slaves.’ That was all she could say. I tell you You

they are very strange. I was so sorry when I heard what had happened to you. I tried to talk to

them about it but the did not seem to think they had done anything wrong. They couldn’t

understand my concern. They are very strange You. But I enjoyed being with them. When I

returned one of the men at the castle was sick, so I got some work with the Duke, just

gardening and general jobs around the place. I didn’t say anything about you or your black

bag. I never saw the Duke except at a distance. It could have been that doctor from the

contagion hospital who told him. She used to come over to the castle quite a lot. I was there

when they brought you in and I guessed what the Duke was after. And after talking to some of

the servants I was proved right. I came to help as soon as I got the chance. I swear I did!

I realized it was far more likely that it had been Dr Fell who had talked to the Duke about my

bag than Milan. It wasn’t likely he would have taken Milan seriously but he would have

believed someone like Dr Fell. And she had been there to dress my wound when I arrived in

the castle.

I said, I’m sorry I suspected you Mi, but it was the way you disappeared and left me. But it

seems as if you had no choice. I’m sorry too that I have got you into this mess. What do we do

now.

We go to The Palace of the Golden Moon, said Milan, We throw ourselves on the mercy of the

Empress. What else can we do?

It Isn’t Right: It Isn’t Fair 108

No one was quite sure who started the Farmer’s Protest, or Farmer’s Crusade as it was to

become known, but once it had started more and more farmers who had large herds of animals

joined it. Their aim was to drive their animals to The Palace of the Golden Moon and force

The Empress to rescind the Proclamation on Vegetarianism. On the other hand there were

those who supported the Proclamation including grain, vegetable and fruit growers,

environmentalists and those who were vegetarian simply because they did want animals killed

for food. There were also those who took the side of the farmers and refused to stop eating

meat and some who argued that turning more ground over to the cultivation of vegetable

crops would do more damage than keeping animals on the land.

On top of all this it was unclear if the Proclamation included dairy products. Did The Empress

intend the world to become vegan? Were fish included in the proclamation? Great debates

were held all over the world but The Empress remained aloof and said that it was for the

people to decide on what kind of vegetarianism they adopted; all she wanted was an end the

cruel practice of rearing animals to be killed to eat. She wanted her reign to be the start of a

kinder, gentler era. The Farmer’s Protest might never have taken off if it had not be for the

scandal of the compensation payments that never arrived and the subsequent discovery that

the Minister of Finance, the supposedly reformed Ex-President Colonel Kepala Besar had fled

! 128

to Mayoria Borracho with most of the money. This left many of the farmers in an impossible

position; they could not sell their animals because nobody wanted to buy them and they could

not afford to feed their animals either. So they took to the road. Like some huge river the

trickle became a rivulet, the rivulet became a stream, the stream became a river and the river

grew and grew. Soon a flood of millions of cattle, sheep and pigs was slowly winding its way

towards the Palace of the Golden Moon. The stream took days to pass by and blocked all the

main roads stopping all transport until it had moved on leaving a swathe of devastation behind

it. All plants were stripped of their leaves green shoots by the hungry animals leaving only

bare and dying stems too woody to be eaten even by a goat. A vast army of hundreds of

thousands of pigs rooted in the soil churning up the earth until the countryside around was left

as devastated as the aftermath of war. The tide of animals moved slowly but inexorably

towards the palace growing in size by the day.

Plans were made to divert the stream of animals on to the eastern plains where they could be

let to roam free and to speed up the compensation payments still owed to the farmers but so

inept or corrupt were the officials that had been appointed to deal with the problem that any

possible solutions were delayed and diluted until they became completely ineffective and the

Farmer’s Protest took on the form of a crusade against bureaucratic corruption that gained the

sympathy of even its most implacable opponents.

James, said Em, what am I going to do?

You could revoke the proclamation.

What cancel it altogether? Is it right or wrong to kill another living thing if you can easily

avoid doing it? …Well?

Most creatures kill other animals either to eat or to protect their territory.

I was not asking about other animals, I was asking if it is wrong to kill if you can avoid it.

Yes, I suppose it is.

Only suppose?

Yes it is wrong.

That’s why I’m not going to change my mind. I want you to find some way to make it work.

I’ll do my best but we have been let down by our administrators. I have to take some

responsibility for that I was too trusting. I’ll take charge myself and make sure your wishes

are carried out. You still have the trust of the people. Most can see you are trying to do what’s

best and you have their support.

Thank you. James, I want to make another proclamation soon.

Another?

Yes. I have been thinking about things and hearing from people all over the world. So many of

them are so poor! They have almost nothing. They live with sickness and hunger, can’t afford

medicine or education. They work so hard for almost nothing. But we are so rich. The rich

people have too much. We should share what we have shouldn’t we James?

Yes, but I think there are many who will not give up their wealth without a fight.

But we must do it! It is only fair. It is only right.

There was determination in her voice and resolution in her eyes. But she knows the truth,

thought James. She knows it will not work. She knows it’s impossible but she going to do it

anyway, even if it destroys her. Because it is the right thing to do.

It doesn’t surprise me, said Artemesia, She’s changed. She’s realized what she can do with the

power she has and she going to use it for doing good. So heaven help us all! One thing is sure

in life and that is that you don’t get rich by being nice and I have a feeling that things are

about to get very nasty. There are a lot of very rich and very powerful people who have been

standing quietly in the background until now. The ‘empress’ has been too popular to touch so

! 129

they’ve gone along with her crazy ideas so far. But if she is going to try to take their money

off them, oh, they’re not going to like that. And as you know well these are the people with

the power to change public opinion, the power to disrupt and undo what they don’t like. They

must see you as being on their side, one of them; the one who can undo all the damage ‘the

empress’ has done.

Your time is coming James and you must be ready. You need to be so careful now. You are

already taking some of the blame for this Farmer’s crusade fiasco. Do as ‘the empress’

ordered, sort it out, and take the credit. Put someone competent in charge, pay the farmers, do

something with the animals. Release them out on the plains as it was planned. Don’t act too

soon though. Let them arrive here first. I’m looking forward to seeing the palace surrounded

by cows and pigs as far as you can see. It should be quite a sight.

I have already drawn up plans for after you take full control. It will not be as difficult as you

might think. You will have to move the government from here, leave ‘the empress’ powerless,

a prisoner in her palace, a much loved figurehead for some and a scapegoat for others.

Rescind the proclamations, rebuild an army; promise the restoration of democracy and the

world will be yours. For a while. There comes a time when a wise leader steps down and rules

from a distance, leaving behind the story, the myth. Always remember James real power is a

thing of the shadows, it hates bright lights.

Everything seems to be going well but I am still worried about the computer, about TRUDI. I

cannot find any way to get through that door without blowing it up, and ‘the empress’ is not

going to allow that. TRUDI cannot be allowed to operate on its own without human input.

Without our input. You must persuade ‘the empress’ to help us get into the computer room.

One more piece of good news, a sign that not all people worship our beloved ‘empress’. I’m

getting reports of some kind of uprising in the north, people are complaining of farms being

raided, houses broken into, property damaged by children.

By children?

Yes, that is the strange thing. They are led by a child calling herself Katie Katz. Apparently

she came from here. From the palace. We are living in the Age of the Child, here we have ‘the

empress’ with her childish ideas of good and bad and making life ‘fun’, on the one hand and

on the other there are these wild rebellious children who care nothing for either good or bad.

And the people, the adults, are acting like children, the whole world has become childish; this

stupid adoration of ‘the empress’ it is like a religion that has swept the world. A cult of the

fairy tale.

You have to make the world grown up again James. Bring it back to reality.

Always look for the fleeting ephemeral truth that drifts around the edge of things – not the

hard immutable truth at the core – believe in it completely, speak of it passionately. Speak

convincingly of its goodness, its power to heal and reconcile and how it build some wonderful

shining future. Clasp it to you as you would embrace someone you love. Then when the time

comes let it go. You will know when that time comes. Turn your back on it and move on to the

next thing with the same intensity. That way you will be a man of integrity. You win the

admiration of those around you. They will follow you. They will believe in you, as you

believe in your chosen cause. But more importantly The Empress will believe in you too.

You can’t expect me to believe in something that easily. My beliefs are important to me.

So they should be. But don’t worry, just leave it to me, when it is needed James I will make

you believe you made your own choices.

Since Fran left Em spent more and more time talking to TRUDI. The screens on the walls

showed her images of terrible suffering throughout the world, the homeless people living on

and beneath the streets of the richest cities to the poorest villagers living on the edge of ever

! 130

expanding deserts, always hungry, always exhausted and sick. TRUDI showed her burning

forests and poisoned rivers full of dead fish; prisons crammed with lost and violent men;

people who seemed to have everything they needed to make them happy living sad and

desperate lives. TRUDI showed her the unloved, the broken, the unforgiven, the despairing,

the lonely, the violent, the cruel and the empty people; millions upon millions of helpless

staring faces flashed past on the screens. She saw bodies made skeletal by hunger, the

pleading eyes of those who had no place to run to or to hide, the outstretched arms of those

lost and looking for love. She saw what a few weeks earlier she would never have dared to

look at. But The Empress had changed, she was no longer the child who had been chosen to

rule the world.

She saw all the suffering in the world and did not shed a single tear until TRUDI showed her

the uncaring, the self-regarding and thoughtless ones who did not see anything beyond

themselves, their families and friends.

Then she cried.

Not because she despised them or was disheartened or despondent, but because she envied

them. That is how she wanted to live but couldn’t. She had chosen to go down a particular

road and she couldn’t turn back however much she wanted too.

She had to press ahead and try to make things better, though she knew now she couldn’t

succeed.

Then TRUDI showed her all the people whose lives she had made better in some small way;

the cheering crowds and the parties at her coronation, the laughter and joy in the silliness or

the proclamation to climb trees, the hope in peoples eyes as they watched the destruction of

arms dumps and closure of slaughter houses. There was so much happiness and so much

uninhibited delight that she could not help smiling when she realised that despite everything

there was still happiness and joy she could bring to the world. This thought made her become

even more determined to carry on.

James and Dr Fell had just finished having dinner together in James’s apartment to avoid

being pursued by journalists and cameramen. James leant across the table and filled Fiona’s

glass.

I have something to ask you Fiona.

Dr Fell raised an eyebrow, Yes?

You must have seen the pictures of the Farmer’s Crusade and the incredible army of farm

animals that is coming our way, and you will know what a mess we have made of carrying out

the Proclamation on Vegetarianism?

It was bound to be a mess. But with the Minister of Finance running off with the

compensation money it does seem to have become a far worse mess than it should have been.

Well, I’m looking for someone to sort it out and I need someone I know and trust and I need

them now. I know you are able, competent and talented. I want you to do it.

I’m flattered, of course, but I’m not sure I have the right skills for the job.

I’ve seen what you did at the hospital. That’s good enough for me. The person I wants just

needs good organizational skills and a strong personality. You have those. And you are

something of a hero in the eyes of the media so people will trust you. I will give all the

authority you need. And, needless to say, you will be paid extremely well and you will be

given your pick of jobs afterwards. This stream of animals is getting closer by the day and we

have to do something about it now. You would start to morrow. There is already an office

prepared for you. I would like you to do this as a personal favour.

Wouldn’t Artemesia be a better choice than me? She has much more experience of diplomacy

and government business. I’m just a simple doctor.

! 131

Artemesia already has more than enough to do. But there is another thing. Perhaps I shouldn’t

be saying this, but have come to feel that we understand each other very well and you will

respect any confidences….

Why of course!

…… well, I sometimes feel. Artemesia may have her own agenda. I’m sure she does

everything she feels is best for me. I absolutely believe that. But I sometimes feel that she

holds things back. It maybe completely unfair of me but nevertheless I feel it and I don’t feel

the same thing about you. And for this job I need someone I can have complete trust in.

I would get to choose my own team?

Yes, whoever you want.

And the money needed for the compensation payments?

I have it ready and will have it released to you if you accept.

We will have to find someone to take over the Contagious Hospital but I’m sure Dr Williams

can do that.

Absolutely not! Dr Williams is being investigated for malpractice, he can’t possibly take over

the hospital. I suggest you look for someone else and let Nurse Pintar take charge in the

interim. She is very competent and there are only routine problems to deal with. In fact I

would suggest you change the role of the hospital from a contagion hospital to a district

hospital, as it’s very unlikely that there will be any serious outbreaks of contagious diseases in

the area.

Would you accept the job if I agreed to your suggestions?

Yes, I would.

Then I will put Nurse Pintar in charge of the new District Hospital.

Well, it looks as though I have to accept. Doesn’t it? She picked up her glass of wine and

drained it. Would you like to show me around my new office?

Artemesia had just reached the bottom of the wide stone steps that led down to The Caves of

Ice, she wanted a closer look at the door to the Computer Room, when she noticed a crack in

the wall. She was sure it had not been there before; she would have noticed as it was about

two meters in length rising from a fissure in the floor and thinning to a hair’s width before

vanishing. She made a mental note to inform the palace maintenance staff and was about to

pass by when she noticed a gleam of light coming out of the crack just above floor level. She

knelt down and lowered her head until she could see into the crack. There was something

beyond. She could see something distant and tiny, as though she were looking down the

wrong end of a telescope. To be able to see better she lowered herself on to the stone floor and

pressed her face to the crack in the wall. She could see a tiny office with a woman sitting in

front of a computer at a desk piled high with papers. On the desk was a framed picture of an

animal of some kind that looked like a sheep. Artemesia could see something was written on

the picture but couldn’t read the words. It was like watching a fairground peepshow. The

woman read through the papers and then typed away at the computer keyboard. A man in a

grey suit arrived carrying another sheaf of papers. He said something Artemesia could not

hear but she could tell from his expression that he was angry. The woman looked up at him

them shifted some of the papers on her desk to make a space. The man flung down his papers

and strode away. The woman picked up the new papers, read through them and began typing

again. Another man arrived carrying more papers. The woman looked up from her typing and

said something. The man was clearly annoyed and waved his papers angrily. The woman

sighed, stopped typing and pushed the previous papers to one side. The man threw down his

papers and walked off. The woman read the papers and started typing. Papers, papers, papers.

So many papers! The man in the grey suit came back. He looked over the woman’s shoulder

as she typed and turned a deep red. He snatched the papers the woman was working on and

! 132

flung them on to the floor, then rummaged around on the desk to find the papers he had given

her earlier, slammed them down on top of the keyboard and walked off. The woman picked up

the papers from the floor, stacked them neatly on her desk. Looked again at the papers on the

keyboard, set them to one side and started typing. A woman in a black suit arrived carrying a

box of files that she placed on top of the papers on the desk. She spoke urgently to the typist

waving a finger in front to her face before shrugging her shoulders and leaving. The typist

looked after her with a look of bleak frustrated hate and then opened the box took out a file,

scanned it and started typing again.

Artemesia’s shoulders and back were aching but she watched the same actions repeated time

and time again with only the slightest variations. She watched fascinated until she could not

stand it any more. She stood up stiffly and to her surprise she found she could not stop

shaking and tears were streaming down her face.

I will NOT let it happen to me! It isn’t right! It isn’t fair! She shouted through her tears, and

fled back up the stone stairs towards her apartment.

Of all the sounds and songs of England

The one I miss the most

Is the creaking caw of crooked crows on Cornwall’s craggy coast.

What do you think? Asked Mi.

Very good. So you are still working on your poem?

Yes. I’m getting there but I’m having problems with Durham and Norfolk. Do you have any

ideas?

We had to spend the whole day in the inn waiting for the safety of night before we could

move on.

Milan was sure there would too many people around to make it safe to travel by day. We

could hear the bleating of sheep and the lowing of cattle outside our window, when I looked

through I saw the yard was full of animals.

Is there a market somewhere? I asked.

Not around here Mi replied, It’s probably a farmer taking his animals to join the Farmer’s

Crusade.

The Farmer’s Crusade?

Yes, a protest at The Empress’s decree that we should all be vegetarians.

Really? That sounds crazy. How can you force people to stop eating meat?

It doesn’t sound crazy to me You. I think most people don’t like the idea of eating animals.

They certainly wouldn’t kill the animals themselves. And religions ban certain meat. I’m

really happy The Empress has made me do something I’ve thought about for a long time but

always been too lazy to do.

Yes, but what about all the animals? Can you still eat cheese and eggs? I can see why the

farmers are upset.

! 133

It’s a first step You. If you just think about all the problems you may meet on the way you

never start the journey.

I passed a rabbit on the stairs

With longish ears and maddish smile

The first time I was quite surprised

But now it’s been there quite a while.

It’s strange how one gets used to things 109

What do you think of that for the start of a poem?

I like it. It’s true that you do get used to the strangest things. That has puzzled ever since I set

off to search for Dys. I have even got used to her not being around and that’s worrying. I

mean getting used to the bad things. I guess there is nothing that you can’t get used to.

Strangeness just wears away like a pair of shoes. But why a rabbit and not something really

strange on the stairs like a….. an octopus?

Octopus would not scan, and rabbit just seemed right. Very ordinary but strange to see on the

stairs, if you were not expecting it.

We sat in our room and passed the day talking about things like these, but most of the time I

was worrying about Indigo. Though her wounds seemed to be healing well and the cuts were

no longer open and weeping but dark and crusted over, still she showed no signs of recovering

her spirit. It seemed that she was suffering from some kind of sickness I could not understand.

Her fur had become pale, damp, cold, slightly sticky to the touch. There was a damp stain on

the bed where she had been lying. While Milan composed poetry I sat and smoothed her fur. It

seemed somehow to have become thin and fragile and I almost expected it to break beneath

my touch like a delicate tracery of frozen grass. Her tail did not curl around my wrist but only

twitched feebly as I stroked her fur. Had Indigo been human or real animal I would have

sought help from a doctor or vet but she was not either but a creature of a different kind. So

different I could not even start to understand her. She seemed to have hurt herself like any

other animal; I had cleaned and dressed the wounds. But somehow I felt that her injuries were

not like those of other creatures, that if she wanted to Indigo could just wish them away, that

they were there for me. That Indigo’s sickness was telling me something.

Indigo, I whispered, I don’t understand. Get better. Tell me what I can do to help you?

Help me? You want to help me? She raised herself up as if some of her old spirit seemed to

have returned., looked at me and hissed faintly. It’s true, you don’t understand. After all the

times I have tried to explain, you still don’t understand. It’s exasperating. I don’t understand

myself. I don’t understand how anyone can be so stupid!

Then she fell back and said in a faint whisper I could barely hear,

I need to sleep. Keep going You. Just keep going.

Her tail stretched out, curled around my wrist and squeezed it gently.

I sat in silence and stroked her damp fur, listening to the scrape of Milan’s pencil as he jotted

down his poems in the notebook he always carried in his pocket.

Some time around midday Bess came into the room carrying a wicker basket.

As you can’t go out I’ve brought you a picnic to your room. It’s a fine day and The Empress

has said that if it is a fine day everyone should go outside and have a picnic. They’ve already

had theirs in some parts of the world. Some were absolutely amazing. You should have seen

! 134

the Chinese picnic. There was one for five thousand people. In some great park, somewhere. I

couldn’t describe the food but it looked marvellous and there were dancers and bands and

acrobats. Oh it was wonderful. But we are just going to go up onto the hill later and have a

simple old fashioned picnic with a few friends, but I think it will be just as much fun. You

know I love picnics and it’s so long since I went on one. So I thought you should have one

too. An indoor picnic. Oh, I do love The Empress! She makes life so much fun.

I’d heard this said so many times now. I’d have been tempted to think that the speakers had

been brainwashed or were under the influence of some kind of drug if it hadn’t been for the

genuine happiness in their voices.

Despite Indigo’s urging I could not help worrying about the mission I had been sent on. As far

as I could tell, so far The Empress had brought nothing but good into people’s lives. And yet

Mr. Mangabey’s instructions had been very clear, I had been sent to assassinate The Empress.

If I ever wanted to see Dys again I had no choice but to do it. The pistol was still in my black

bag. That morning I had searched inside the bag hoping to find something that might restore

Indigo to health but found only the gun. I took it out and looked at it. The polished metal was

flecked with rust but I broke it open easily enough and looked inside the chamber. There were

two shells, one had already been fired and just the casing remained. I had one bullet left. I

would like to be able to say that I was filled with remorse after shooting the Duke but the truth

was I felt nothing. Nothing except fear for myself; fear of what might happen if the duke’s

men were to find me. I could clearly see the incident in the eye of my memory; see the look of

shock and surprise on the Duke’s face, the dark spot on his white shirt and hear the deafening

crack of the shot. But it was all somehow distant and unreal as if I had read it in a book or

seen it in a film.

The picnic came with a blanket to spread on the floor and spread the contents the basket out

upon it. There was a boiled egg salad, tomatoes, four kinds of cheese, a quiche, sticks of

carrot and celery, various kinds of dips, apples, two bars of chocolate and orange juice to eat.

There was no meat; the picnic was vegetarian.

Milan, do you think your friend Katie Katz will be having a picnic today?

She’s not my friend. I’m not sure she’s anyone’s friend. But I’m certain she won’t be having a

picnic. Not today.

Why not? How can you be so certain?

Because she hates The Empress. They all do. She and all her followers.

But why?

I don’t know exactly, but I think it’s because they hate being told to do anything. It doesn’t

matter what it is or how sensible it is, just the fact that they are being told to do it is enough to

make them refuse. They call her The Evil Empress. They want to destroy The Palace of the

Golden Moon.

The Evil Empress!

It was the first time I had heard anyone use the phrase since I had had my orders from Mr.

Mangabey.

But she has done nothing that is even remotely evil. The opposite in fact.

! 135

I know, but for Katie Katz it is enough that she is an empress and lives in a place. They are

polar opposites. The two sides that always repel. It’s has nothing to with being reasonable or

mad, good or bad. They are just different. Another strange thing is that although they hate The

empress and the palace they came from The Palace of the Golden Moon.

What do you mean?

Just that really. No one had heard of Katie Katz or the Children in Black, as people call them

now, until after the place was built, and then they were seen running down the corridors or

vanishing up the stairs. But where they actually came from nobody knows. Or why they hate

The Empress and the palace so much.

Milan went back to writing in his notebook and I was left in my usual state of confusion and

doubt. I sat and gently stroked Indigo’s damp misty grey fur. Each time I looked she seemed

to be paler and more fragile. The only reassuring thing was that her wounds seemed to be

fading away, the scars around her face that had been so clear that morning were now barely

visible and new transparent needle like seeds of claws seemed to be growing from the tips her

fingers. She slept throughout the day and I did not disturb her.

I passed a rabbit on the stairs

With longish ears and maddish smile.

The first time I was quite surprised

But now it’s been there quite a while.

It’s strange how one gets used to things

There’s another rabbit on the stairs

With longer ears and madder smile

And I was even more surprised

To hear it laughing like a child.

It’s strange what every new day brings

And stranger how one gets used to things.

Oh, how one gets used to things!

Milan looked disappointed. It doesn’t work he said. I have spent most of the day on it and it

still doesn’t sound right. Do you think I should give up poetry?

Oh no, I really like your poetry. I’m not sure I understand it, but I like to hear it. I like the way

you end that poem, brings, things, things. It’s very… unusual. I like it.

You really do?

Yes really. And I’m really looking forward to hearing Birds of England when it’s finished.

Thank you. It’s so good to get some encouragement. There’s no one else I know who will

listen to me reading my poems. I must do more work on Birds. I’m still stuck on Norfolk.

We had intended to leave the inn round about midnight when most of the roads would be

empty but it had only been dark for an hour or two when we heard the sound of someone

banging on the inn door. They must have been hitting the door with a good deal of strength

! 136

and violence for the sound to echo right through into our room at the back. There was

something disturbing about the noise that made us look at each other and sit in apprehensive

silence until it stopped. About fifteen minutes or so later Bess rushed into our room, her face

flushed and a frightened look in in her eyes.

That was the Duke’s men. They’re searching the outhouses and will come back to the inn

soon. You’ve got to go. Now! Follow me.

We grabbed our things and I tucked Indigo beneath my coat before following Bess out of the

room and down a flight of back stairs where a door opened into the kitchen garden at the rear

of the inn.

Go through that gate over there. There’s a path that leads into the woods. Go quickly and

make sure you’re not seen.

She gave Milan a hug and then closed the door behind us. We ducked down and crept across

the garden past patches of cabbage and carrots and were partly sheltered from view by current

and gooseberry bushes that lined the path. As we did we could hear the sound of voices from

beyond the garden wall, and the sound of boots on the cobbled yard. Someone shouted, Here’s

the motorbike! Search the house!

We reached the gate and made a quick dash across the open ground that lay between us and

the shadows that marked the edge of the woods.

Milan seemed to know the path and hurried on ahead. I was less sure and burdened with

Indigo and my bag I made slower progress. Milan stopped and waited for me.

I know a place we can hide but it’s a long walk. Pity about the motorbike. I hope it’s there

when I go back. And I hope Bess and her father will be alright. Just follow me, the sooner we

can get away from here the better.

There was enough moonlight shining down between the trees and the path was wide and well

trodden so we had no trouble finding our way through the woods. Once on the other side we

climbed a style into a broad meadow and skirted around the edge keeping close to the hedge.

We crossed meadows and ploughed fields, orchards and vineyards and for a short distance

walked along a narrow country lane, but wherever possible we followed footpaths and Milan

kept off the road and away from houses. Only once we passed close enough to a farmhouse to

set the dogs barking but we went quickly by and no one woke to investigate. We walked

through the night without stopping, except for short breaks when the weight of carrying both

my bag and Indigo became too much. Mi offered to help but I refused; I did not want to let go

of either Indigo or may bag again. Indigo lay cold and damp and very still against my chest; I

felt like a poacher sneaking back from the river hiding a salmon beneath his jacket. Indigo

slept for most of the journey and was so cold and still that at times I was worried that she

might have died and each time we stopped I checked that she was still breathing.

When the path was clear in the moonlight we had no difficulty but in the dark shadow of the

trees or when the moon vanished behind the cloud we had to feel our way along the path and

the going slowed right down to step by careful step. It amazed me that Mi knew the paths so

well that he could find his way even by night, and I began to suspect that some of the work he

picked up was of the kind best done at night when nobody was around to see.

We left a patch of woodland and came out on a rise overlooking a shallow valley.

Look we’re almost there, cried Mi, pointing to an isolated cottage on the other side of the

valley. See that cottage in the little orchard? We can stay there.

There was no road or track leading up to the cottage, only a path overgrown with nettles and

bramble that led to a broken down gate hanging off its hinges and then into the orchard. At the

bottom of the orchard we could see the cottage in the moonlight, the dark squares of windows

! 137

and door and rain grey stone walls black veined with ivy. Among the cherry trees in the

orchard we glimpsed a small figure in white leaping and twirling in the shadows capering

from tree to tree and calling in a thin whining voice, 110

Mrs Gill! Mrs Gill! Can't you look out of your window, Mrs. Gill? What have they done with

you, you poor Mrs. Gill?

As we got closer we could see it was a child, a boy, dressed in white with a ghastly ivory face

and a mass of pale thistledown hair.

What are you doing? asked Mi.

The boy stared at him with tiny eyes that glinted in the moonlight like beads of jet.

Nothing, he said, just mimbling, and mambling, nidding and nodding.

Then he skipped off and vanished into the shadows between the cherry trees and all we saw

was the flash of his white coat as he darted from tree to tree.

We found the door to the cottage lock and Mi banged on the door and the noise echoed across

the valley, but there was no answer from within. It did not surprise me as the whole place

seemed so deserted, the overgrown garden, the cracked windows and the awful suffocating

silence that hung over the place. Not a whisper of wind stirred the leaves of the ivy that grew

under the windows, no crickets chirruped or bats squeaked under the eaves and no night birds

called from the woods. We went to peek through the windows and found one slightly ajar; we

wriggled and pulled at it and finally it creaked open.

Wait here, said Mi as he squeezed himself through the black square of the open window.

Minutes later I heard the scrape of a key turning in the lock and the front door opened. Mi

had found some stubs of candles and had lit one and stuck it in a candle stick on the table in

the front room. Everything inside was covered with a thin layer of dust and cobwebs hung in

every corner and a stale fusty smell hung in the air.

Leave the door open for a while, Mi said, and help me light a fire.

There were still logs and kindling beside the old iron fireplace and we soon had the room lit

by a blazing fire.

That’s better, you can close the door now. I’ll find some bedding and we can stretch out in

front of the fire. Look in the cupboards and see if you can find anything to eat. I took off my

jacket and laid it on the floor and made Indigo as comfortable as I could before I went off to

look for food.

The cupboards were empty of anything edible. There were some unpleasant looking shriveled

things in glass jars, but I left those alone and eventually found a tin of tea. I also checked my

bag and to my surprise found bread, cheese, a jar of peanut butter, a small bottle of milk and

chocolate biscuits. Mi returned with an armful of blankets, coats and cushions that he spread

out on the floor in front of the fire.

These are not too damp, we should be comfortable enough.

Then he noticed the food. Is that from your bag? We have everything we need. Even milk to

put in the tea. Amazing! You look after Indigo and I’ll make our supper.

I had made Indigo a kind of nest out of cushions and my coat and placed her on it.

When I lifted her off my coat she was wringing wet and my jacket was sodden.

Take her up tenderly, lift her with care. Said Milan. 111

I made her as comfortable as I could in front to the fire hoping the warmth might do some

good. Her fur was cold and clammy to the touch and as white as sun-bleached bone: her

beautiful indigo eyes were now greyish alabaster and the yellow ring around the iris the

colour of sour cream. Her tail hung limp as a strand of water weed.

! 138

Whatever the sickness was it grew stronger by the hour and there was nothing I could do to

stop it. At first I had been sure that the black bag would offer a cure; it had done for Mr Marz,

why not for Indigo? But everyone of the countless times I looked I found only the gun.

The thought that I might lose Indigo filled me with and indescribable misery; she had become

so close, so familiar to me that I could not imagine being without her. She was also the only

link I had with the world I had left behind. The world of home, parents and sister. The world I

could hardly remember. Only Indigo was able to suppress the dreadful panic that arose when

I though of Dys and tried to make any kind of sense out of what happened. Even as I thought

this I felt the cold choking panic rising again, as though I had fallen through the ice and was

drowning.

Indigo, I wept, Please, please get well. Tell me what I can do. Just tell me what I can do and

I’ll do it! Please! This is all my fault. I’m sorry, please tell me what I can do to make things

better.

My hot tears fell on to her already sodden fur.

The room filled with the smell of roast chestnuts, coffee, mushrooms and leaf mold, of

raspberry leaves, lavender and soft brown fur.

Do nothing, Indigo’s faint hiss was almost inaudible,

Do nothing. Just go on, as I have told you

time and time again…

You will go on… and go on with out me…. It’s true.. you made this happen.

But it is not your fault… it is your strength….

I’m going you….

I’m going like a sqonk. 112

A what? I whispered.

A squonk. If you don’t know what it is ask Milan. He calls himself a poet.

And she laughed. Indigo laughed. It was a faint reiterated broken hiss but I was sure it was

laughter.

There is something you can do….

What? Just tell me Indigo. I’ll do anything. Anything!

You ca..you can…

What?

You can stop interrupting… and you can ..stop crying for a start…

Do you remember that song… song you sung when we… walked across…

The moor?

Un elephant ca trompe?

Yes… that one.

Do you know… any more…

Any more like it?

I thought for a moment and said,

I don’t really know any songs but I think I can remember an Indonesian song someone once

taught me. It’s a kind of walking song.

Very good….and very…appropriate. Go on… I need…

sleep.

! 139

So me and Milan sat by the fire and sang, while Indigo faded away.

Gelang sipaku gelang

Gelang si rama rama

Mari pulang

Marilah pulang

Marilah pulang

Bersama-sama

Mari pulang

Marilah pulang

Marilah pulang

Bersama-sama 113

How many times we sang it I don’t know. I threw several big logs on to the fire. I glanced at

Indigo and turned away quickly. All I saw was her shape outlined in a kind of thin transparent

watery jelly, the kind you sometimes find in stagnant ponds. Whenever we stopped singing we

could hear outside in the dark orchard a high scratchy mocking voice calling,

Where have they hidden you, you poor old Mrs. Gill?

Won't you look out of your window, Mrs. Gill?'

So I kept on singing

Mari pulang

Marilah pulang

Marilah pulang

Bersama-sama

until my throat was so dry and sore I could sing no more and was so tired I fell forwards on to

the pile of blankets and slept.

When I awoke as the first morning light streamed through the windows and filled the deserted

cottage all that was left of Indigo was a pool of water on the stone flags of the floor, glittering

in the sunlight beside the sodden cushions.

! 140

The Proclamation of Equality

Dr. Fiona Fell was able to solve the crisis of the Farmer’s Crusade much quicker and with less

difficulty than she expected; it was simply a question of rushing through generous

compensation payments and diverting the stream of animals to the eastern plains where they

could left to roam freely. She made sure she appeared regularly on television and in the press

by issuing regular updates of her progress and going out and talking to the farmers, their

families and all involved in the meat processing industry. Something she hated with a deep

and nt loathing, though no one would have guessed from the pictures of her wearing her

serious sympathetic smile and the latest fashion barely off the designers drawing board as she

posed with anxious families. When two women died on the Crusade, drowned by an unusually

high tide as they grazed their cattle on the coastal saltmarsh completely unaware of the

danger. 114 Dr Fell flew into the nearby village immediately and was expressing ‘the heartache

this dreadful tragedy has brought to us all’ even as the bodies of the drowned women were

being lifted from the boat onto the jetty. ‘Our thoughts at this time must go to the families of

Mary and Elizabeth. Sadly, James cannot be here today but he has told me to tell you he sends

his deepest sympathy and is with us in spirit. I know it is little consolation for the loss they

have suffered but I promise the families, here in front of the world’s press, ‘This will not

happen again! Now I suggest a minuets silence in respect for these beautiful young women so

cruelly taken from us.’ She stood for a minute eyes cast down next to a large sign saying

Extreme Danger. High Tides and Quick Sands thinking, ‘How can anyone be so stupid that

they go out there with a herd of cows!’ As she tried to squeeze out a tear or two. The tears

were worth the effort the picture made all the front pages. Reporters also speculated on they

very familiar almost affectionate way she said the name ‘James’.

It is not to say there were not difficulties, but the worst of these could be left until they

became critical, which would be long after Dr Fell had moved on to other things. Chief among

these problems was the impact on the environment and the management of these domestic

animals once they were set free. It would take generations for cattle and sheep to adapt to

living in the wild and most were doomed to die of starvation, disease and be hunted by

predators that found them an easy target. Some said it was crueler to release the animals than

eat them, but most were happy to let nature take its course. Once the money was there the

compensation payments could be rushed through without worrying too much about

overpayment or minor corruption. One minor compromise had to be made and a small part of

the Crusade was to be allowed to complete the journey to The Palace of the Golden Moon as a

symbol of a successful completion. When James appeared on the balcony of the palace to

announce the crisis was over he was wearing the full regalia of the Psychopomp and Fiona

Fell was standing by his side.

It was all Artemesia could have wished for; James was credited with saving the situation and

there was much speculation about a new romance between him and Fiona Fell.

The Empress had announced she wished to make a fresh proclamation about the equal sharing

of wealth, chaos would inevitably follow and James would have to step in again to restore

order, but this time he would remain in charge. The Empress would be powerless, Empress

only in name, and Artemesia’s ambition would be fulfilled. It was all so close to being over.

And then what?

She would think about that when the time came. After the Proclamation of Equality.

! 141

She should have felt elated, excited by the fact that her plans were finally coming to fruition

but instead she felt a nagging doubt. A doubt she had felt ever since she had seen the strange

vision of the woman at the desk. She had always thought it would be enough to know that

James’s achievements were all largely her work. Now she realized that she could never get the

acknowledgement she deserved; of course James would give her some of the credit but only

that due to an assistant, and no more. After years of being devoted to James and giving her

whole life to furthering his career now that he was close to the pinnacle of his success she

found herself despising him. What would he do after the fall of ‘the empress’? Found a

dynasty. What else could he do? He wasn’t interested in ‘doing good’; wealth and power

would mean very little as he had already tasted those fruits. Artemesia knew James well

enough to guess that his thoughts would turn to using his power to become the unrivalled

centre of the world’s attention and that would mean, when the time was right, declaring

himself Emperor.

She smiled at the irony of the thought of Emperor James.

And would she have liked to rule by his side? At one time she would. It had once been her

dream that they would share what she had created, but now all she wanted was for it to be

over. For her to have achieved her goal and be able to escape to other things. Perhaps she

would take up painting.

The Empress paced up and down her room and said in a quiet yet firm voice, almost as though

she was speaking to herself. As if she were working herself to take the first step on a journey

without a destination.

I want to make everyone equal. It simply isn’t right that some people are so rich when others

have nothing.

I agree, said James, but it will not be easy. If everyone becomes equal that means a great

many people become poorer. A lot poorer. And they will not be happy. And there will be no

competition, no reason to work harder or do things better if you are not going to get more for

the effort.

Is it right that some people should have more simply because they have been born in a rich

country, have a rich family, can play football better or are just cleverer than people who are

born with nothing, who are sick or just aren’t very clever?

No it is not fair but that is the way the world is.

You said the same thing about vegetarianism and you have managed to sort out this farmer’s

Crusade. Everyone seems quite happy now.

Yes, but it was at enormous expense. We paid off the farmers but I don’t think they are going

to be very happy when you take away the money you have just given them to give it to the

poor.

I don’t care! I want to do what is right, I will do what is right and I can do what is right.

Why not do things gradually, add a little on to tax each year.

We have already had this argument. Unless it is done at once it will never be done. I have to

make my people’s lives better now, I can’t tell them things are going to get better some time in

the future, but I don’t know when. I have you and I have TRUDI and I have all the people

who want the world to be a better fairer place. Together we can do it.

! 142

James had urged caution more strongly than he had done for the other proclamations because

this time he was sure that whatever he said, no matter how good his arguments, The Empress

was not going to change her mind.

When do you want to make the proclamation?

The day after tomorrow. Or do you think that is too soon?

No, now your mind is made up the sooner the better.

The day after tomorrow good? Good. Then when the first sign of a revolt appears – your

friends are preparing now - you confine ‘the empress’ to her room, step out on the balcony

and announce you are taking control on behalf of ‘the empress’. Later she will give you her

full endorsement. I already have the script written.

What if she refuses? There are also her six guards to think about. I want no bloodshed.

That has been taken care of. There are usually only two guards at the entrance to the royal

chambers in the morning. The other four will be given a sleeping drug in their breakfast when

it is delivered to their rooms.

And the remaining two?

We have a citizen’s militia made up of eight men who used to work for Claus Ferrara. I have

already given them work inside the castle. As soon as the get the signal they will overpower

the two guards, confine ‘the empress’ to her room and wait for your orders.

And what makes you think The Empress will give me her endorsement?

You tell her you will revoke her proclamations if she doesn’t. She will have no choice. We

have guns and men in Mayoria Borracho just waiting to be put under your command.

On the day you take power President, General Astorio Astuto will be overthrown in a popular

coup and the islanders will declare their allegiance to the Psychopomp, giving you control of

the only remaining armaments on the planet.

What about the people? The Empress is still almost as popular as she was when she first came

here.

You will be acting for ‘the empress’. You have already been doing that. The only difference

will be no more proclamations. You will control power through the machinery of government.

You will pass acts and make pronouncements on behalf of ‘the empress’ but she will no longer

take an active role. You will stress that she is still a child and has made childish mistakes that

you will do your best to put right. We have put a lot of work into building your own

popularity with the people; at first they will notice hardly any change, because on the surface

very little will have changed. You will fire all those incompetents who have done such a good

job for us and replace them by more efficient and honest officials and your popularity will rise

even further.

I would like to offer Fiona some high position in the new regime. Minister of Health perhaps.

She has done such good work for us over this Farmer’s Crusade business.

Certainly, but as you are so close to her I suggest she is elected to the post. There would be no

opposition and it would seem she got the job on her own merit.

Artemesia noted the fact that James had made no mention of her in his plans.

What about these Children in Black we keep hearing about. Are they a threat?

I can find out very little about them except that they are implacably opposed to ‘the empress’.

I tried to find out if they would be interested in supporting you cause but they flatly refused to

talk to us. So the answer is that I don’t know, but I can’t see how they can be. One other thing.

You must recall Ahmad Shannon, the architect. I have had builders come in and look at the

! 143

palace and they say it is in need of serious repairs. This whole place was built with shoddy

substandard materials, much of the surface gilt and marble is already showing signs of wear

and I have seen huge cracks in the walls in several places now.

A large deep crack had appeared in The Empress’s bedroom wall. When she lay on her bed

she could hear sounds coming through the crack as if it went through into the next room; but

there was no next room, the crack was on an outside wall. She heard children’s voices, a boy

and a girl, chattering and laughing and the voice of a man and a woman. The children’s

parents she guessed. It was a man’s voice that she could hear most of the time speaking in a

quiet low drone as if he were telling a long and rather boring story.

She pressed her ear to the crack but could not make any sense of what she heard and was only

able to pick out the odd word.

… wept. ……. beautiful shoe …………….. destroyed by …………. widows and

orphans………… pets …………. everyone ………. dark hole ……… Marz ……….. a sack;

…… stiletto heel………. laces ……. leather court ……. Marz ……..

She tried shouting into the crack.

Hey! Who are you? Can you hear me!

But the voice just went on and on.

… children ……. everyone …… wept …. sack …. brown …. woman … useless…. villagers

….. think of anything …..

In the end she rolled up some of her silk scarves and stuffed them into the hole to deaden the

sound of the voice.

Em had felt desperately lonely since Fran had returned to the USA and though the two

sometimes spoke on a video link it was not like having someone in the room to talk to.

Em turned to her six guardians for company; since her arrival in the palace The Six were

always there but at a distance and she knew very little about them. Two of the six always

guarded the entrance to her chambers and she began to ask them in to share a drink of coffe or

tea with her. She soon found out that in fact there were now only five guardians and not six.

One morning Nils Grabgas had told the others that he was going to somewhere called Himola

(Hymylä*)

and would be back later that day. He was never seen again and no one had any idea where

Himola was. They had even tried looking it up on the internet without success. The riddle of

Nils Grabgas disappearance was never explained.

Em noticed that the remaining five of The Six no longer had the powerful military bearing

they had when they first bought her to the palace; they seemed to have become thinner and

shrunken, their uniforms now seemed several sizes to big for them and their faces drawn and

pale. Even the sisters from Java and Kathy from India had lost their tan and there was an

unhealthy chalkiness to their skin.

Em asked if there was anything wrong but they didn’t seem to understand the question.

Yes, we are as fit as ever Your Majesty. What is it Your Majesty commands?

Though Em was never able to get Illya Muromets to answer her questions with anything but,

Yes Your Majesty, or No Your Majesty, with a great deal of effort she found that the others

although unable to make any sort of conversation could be cajoled into telling stories.

Unfortunately she found the stories they told rather dull. Paul could only tell a rather silly

! 144

story of someone wandering knee-deep in blue snow coming across a baby blue ox and taking

it home to rear. The ox grew so big and strong that it would knock down trees by rubbing its

back against them and could straighten roads by pulling the kinks and twists out of them, Em

soon tired of hearing the exploits of Babe the Blue Cow. 115

Bahwan Putih and Bahwan Merah had only one story, Rose Red and Snow White. Em had

read it some years ago in her book of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. The sisters, Fair haired Snow

White and black haired Rose Red are befriended by a bear and tormented by a wicked dwarf.

The bear kills the dwarf and turns into a handsome Prince. Snow white marries the Prince and

his brother Rose Red. It was not Em’s favourite story.

Kathy Saritsagara on the other hand had an unlimited supply of stories. Some were funny,

some sad, some strange and some so ordinary that Em thought she might have missed

something. Some stories were so long that they would have lasted all day if Em had not

ordered Kathy to stop; others were so short that they were over in a few sentences.

Where do you get all these stories? Asked Em.

Kathy laughed and replied, Oh, I just take my bucket and dip it into the Ocean of Stories Your

Majesty.

Of all the stories that Kathy told there was one very short tale that she could not understand

but it stuck in her mind and disturbed her whenever she recalled it.

Story of the seven princesses.

Once upon a time long, long ago, a certain king

named Krita had seven daughters, seven beautiful princesses.

But before the eldest had reached her sixteenth birthday all seven of the princesses left the

palace and their father to go to live in the cemetery.

Of course, King Krita and everyone else was totally surprised and shocked by the action of

the princesses. How could they leave their Father and the luxury of the palace to go and live

in a places as sad and sinister as an overgrown cemetery? When they were asked why they

had done it the seven princesses replied, ‘ Because nothing in this world is real. Things such

as love and happiness are just the empty echo of a dream. In this little spinning word of ours

only the good of others is real. So we have decided that we should do good to our fellow

creatures, and we have come here to give our bodies to the eaters of raw flesh, the jackals, the

tiger and the bear.

This world is unreal, what is the use of our bodies, lovely as they are? 116,

The Empress stood on the Balcony of the Palace of the Golden Moon wearing a simple green

cotton print dress her hair hanging loose ruffled by the wind. She looked like the child she

was, tired and vulnerable, as she stood beside her Psychopomp who towered over her in his

full ceremonial suit of burgundy and red velvet cloak so long it stroked the marble as he

walked.

Fragile as she looked The Empress spoke in a clear ringing voice that was amplified and

echoed over the heads of the crowd gathered below.

I have seen people who work hard and have almost nothing they can call their own and I have

seen people who, like me, have everything. And I have seen everything in between, people

who have tiny houses or a single room in a great city, farmers who struggle to make a living

from a small patch of land, people who live in grand houses and mansions and some who own

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vast estates. I have seen people who have no clean water to drink. I have seen people who

cannot afford medicine when they are sick. I have seen people who cannot afford to send their

children to school. And I asked myself, why is this? Have those with nothing done something

wrong and deserve punishment? Are they too stupid and lazy to earn more? Do they simply

like being poor? Or are they just unlucky? The things I saw made me cry until my eyes were

sore and I had no more tears to cry. Then I sat in my room and I thought about these questions

for a very long time and now I believe that the poorest people in our world are poor simply

because… They are just unlucky!

They have been born into the wrong family, in the wrong place and are just ordinary people

without any marvelous talents for sport, science or music. Just ordinary people with no chance

in life. And I asked myself is this fair? If I lived in a big family with many brothers and sisters

and the youngest of my brothers was sickly and weak and could not help with the chores

would we give him less when we sat down to eat at the family table? Of course, we would

not. We would give him more! Isn’t it true that in a real family all brothers and sisters are

equal? In a family do you need to ask how to share? Do you ask who owns the table you eat

from, the bed you sleep in, the food you eat? No in a real family parents, brothers and sisters

all have their own things but these things are shared. Does a mother have to be told to share

her food with her children? No! She would go without food herself for the sake of her

children.

I am The Empress!

You are my family!

How can I rest when a single one of you is suffering?

And I know millions of you are suffering. I believe I was chosen to be Empress so that I can

change things. I believe that I am here to make this world a better fairer place. Is it fair that

some people have so much when others have so little? No!

This palace has always been yours as much as mine. I ask only for a single room to live in.

That will be enough for me and still far more than many people have. So I will be making the

rest of the palace, apart from the offices and apartments for staff, a hospice for sick children

from all over the world.

All of you no matter where you were born or what disadvantages life has given you, all of you

are part of my family, and as a family we will share what we have, as fairly and equally as we

possibly can.

I therefore declare:

The Proclamation of Equality!

Oh, and I would like you all to celebrate this, so I also issue

The Proclamation of Singing and Dancing.

Artemesia wanted to hear people’s reactions to the proclamation and had left her apartment

and gone out to mingle with the crowds that had gathered around the palace waiting to see

The Empress appear on the balcony to make the announcement. As usual giant screens had

been set up to show a close up video picture the tiny figures standing on a balcony so far

above the people below. There were many thousands of people who had come to the hear the

proclamation orsimply to get their first view of The Empress. When she appeared Artemesia

heard murmurs of disappointment.

Is that her? Why isn’t she wearing a crown?

She looks just like our Maureen, she’s got a dress like that!

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You’d think she would have tried a bit harder to look more like The Empress we saw on

television.

Why is she wearing that cheap dress? Isn’t she supposed to be wearing robes or something?

Why hasn’t she had her hair done?

Where’s her crown?

Is that man in red, the Psychopomp? Now he looks amazing!

It was true James did look amazing. With his ceremonial hat and elevated shoes he was almost

twice the size of The Empress and stood beside her like some powerful supernatural guardian

from myth or legend. The contrast could not have been greater; the tiny fragile child in the

cheap dress and the huge superhuman Psychopomp in the burgundy suit, tall many tiered hat

and red velvet cloak.

But when The Empress spoke her words were passionate, strong and clear and the crowd fell

silent.

‘I have seen people who work hard and have almost nothing…’

After the applause and cheers had died down and empress and Psychopomp had left the

balcony Artemesia heard several people who were either bemused or worried by the idea of

‘sharing’.

What does she mean, ‘We will share we have’? Just our money? Or our houses and our

things?

Will poor people just come into our houses and take what they want?

Hey Annie! Can I share that new car of yours?

As long as you don’t want me to share your husband!

Artemesia smiled when she heard one man saying to another.

Gold! Get your money out in gold and bury it. It won’t be safe in the bank.

Then a band struck up and someone grabbed her arm.

Shall we dance?

No we shan’t!

And with the warm feeling of satisfaction that comes from a job well done she returned to her

rooms.

Into the Palace

I walked away from the deserted cottage with a heavy heart. It was hard for me to think about

continuing my journey without Indigo, she had been a part of everything that had happened to

me so far. She had calmed my fears and reassured me whenever I felt as though I was going to

be overwhelmed by panic and confusion. She had always been able to give me some sense of

purpose in the senseless bewildering world I found myself in. The firm soft grip of her tail,

her ‘reprehensible’ tail, around my neck had comforted me throughout my journey, and now

she wasn’t there. Who could I turn to? Who would guide and advise me from now on? I knew

Mi would try his best, but he had no idea of my mission, and I did not dare tell him. I felt

utterly lost in a strange and hostile land.

Before I left I had stood and looked at the pool of clear water that was all that was left of

Indigo. I found myself wishing that only there had been something left for me to mourn and

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bury, a wad of fur, a bone, a claw. I could not bring myself to touch the water or wash it away.

I was filled with revulsion, and felt physically sick at the thought of mopping it up. So I

walked away. Just picked up my bag and walked away. I carried on with my journey as Indigo

had said I must.

We had reached the end of a path leading down from the cottage door and come to a gate

leading on to a narrow lane.

We must risk taking the road from now on.

It was the first time Milan had spoken since we had left the cottage. We walked on down the

lane in silence until we came to an old stone bridge across a shallow stream. We leant on the

parapet watching the water splashing and sparkling over the stones below. Perhaps Indigo was

even now part of this very stream. I went over and picked some late flowering wild roses that

were growing on the hedgerow and scattered them on the waters of the stream.

Goodbye Indigo, my friend, and a safe journey.

I stood and watched until the rose petals had danced down the stream and vanished out of

sight on the surface of the water.

I’m ready Mi, let’s go on. What are your plans?

Plans? I don’t have a plan. Just to go to The Palace of the Golden Moon and throw ourselves

on the mercy of The Empress. I’m in deep trouble too now for helping you. Can you think of

another plan?

No. How do we get into the palace? Won’t they be waiting for us there?

Yes, they probably will, but we will think about that when we get there. We also have to think

how to get past the thousands of other people who are waiting for an audience with The

Empress. Another problem we can leave until we reach the palace. It’s not far to the main road

and we may be able to get a lift from there to…

Milan never finished his sentence as we became aware of the steady thrum of an approaching

helicopter increasing in volume as it got ever closer. Milan grabbed my arm and dragged me

through a gap in the hedge and into the sheltering shadow of an old oak tree. The helicopter

came spinning out of the sun with a deafening whirr and clatter and swept over us almost

touching the treetops as it passed, buffeting the and tearing at the leaves that spun and drifted

down like a green autumn.

Do you thing it is looking for us?

Of course it is. Why else would it be flying so low like that? We can’t risk being seen on the

open road now.

What can we do?

Without Indigo to guide me I felt alone, lost and afraid in an uncertain world. I only had

Milan to turn to for advice.

We wait here until dark.

What then?

I don’t know. But I do have an idea. We are not far from the coast here and a little port called

Gull Barge. The road to the Palace would take us directly inland and that is where they will be

looking. If we go in the opposite direction and keep out of sight, we should be safe.

But what do we do when we get to this Gull Barge place? What happens then?

Katie Katz father has a boat in Gull Barge. Katie sometimes gives me messages and gifts for

him and I deliver them whenever I come down this way. He will help us I’m sure.

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But Katie Katz tried to kill me!

Don’t exaggerate. It wasn’t Katie. It was one of her boys. And he didn’t try to kill you. If you

hadn’t hung on to that bag of yours he wouldn’t have touched you.

But …!

Just listen to me. Captain Katz is old and blind now but he still does some short trips carrying

cargo between the the small coastal ports with the help of his son. If we get him to take us

with him… You see the port lies in a bay and if we go south and around the peninsula we can

land and head for the Palace again. They can’t watch every track and lane and will probably

be still searching round here. What do you think?

I don’t know. If you think that’s our best chance let’s do it.

But somehow Milan did not seem very enthusiastic about his own plan. He bit his lip and

avoided my gaze.

There is a …difficulty. A slight problem.

What kind of problem.

Captain Katz’ son Bob. He’s a layabout. He spends all his time in the pubs drinking, chasing

girls and generally making a nuisance of himself. And worse than that he. Milan stopped midsentence.

What?

It doesn’t matter.

I think it does. I am most at risk of the two of us and if there is something I need to know you

should tell me. What is it that you don’t like about this Bob.

Milan looked away and muttered.

He writes poetry.

I could not help smiling. ‘He writes poetry! What is so bad about that?

He ridicules my work. He always finds the opportunity to make some mocking remark or

insulting remark about it. I can’t stand him!

But you won’t have to for long and besides I’ll be there.

I could could not help thinking that Milan was more than a little jealous of Captain Katz’ son

Bob and that must have shown in my face as Milan hesitated before replying, then stammered.

Yes.. That’s true. You will be there. You can talk to him so I won’t have to. We’ll go.

Then as if to avoid any further discussion he sat down, clasped his arms around his knees and

stared intently at the road as if he expected to see an army of our pursuers appear at any

moment.

We stayed under the oak tree for the rest of the day, not daring to leave its shelter and step out

into the road. Several times black Landrovers like those we had seen on the heath sped past,

but there was little other traffic. A few cars and a farmer and his dog driving a herd of black

and white cattle before them. An old bus lumbered by as if every joint ached from the weight

it was carrying. So packed full of passengers that they hung out of the door and several sat

among the luggage piled high on the roof. I was tempted to see if could not fit ourselves on to

the roof too, but the bus was headed inland and Milan thought it too risky. We leaned back

against the rough tree trunk and waited for the day to pass. Neither of us felt like talking.

Milan was unusually quiet, sometimes muttering under his breath as he worked on his poems.

I caught the words … yellowhammer… Yorkshire… but little else. My mind kept going back

to the loss of Indigo. The death of Indigo. I didn’t want to call the strange way she dissolved

and vanished death. I didn’t want to admit how much I missed her. But the pain, disorientation

and loneliness was all too real. I watched a tiny brown caterpillar wriggling in the grass by my

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feet and then crawl upwards. After having reached the end of a blade of grass it hesitated, rose

up, swayed from side to side as if seeking some way out of its dilemma then drew itself

together and stretched out to reach the next blade of grass.

117

And so on until it vanished from

my view. The caterpillar had seemed so purposeful, so focused on its next move, but wasn’t it

simply being drawn towards some food plant by some kind of scent, some chemical essence

in the air that only caterpillars could detect. It may have looked as if it was choosing which

blade of grass it was going to move to but in reality it had no choice. In reality. Why are you

grieving for Indigo? I asked myself, Indigo was not real. Real creatures don’t dissolve into

nothingness. You are like a child crying over something in a storybook. It may be touching to

see but it is also foolish and naïve. Don’t be so stupid as to cry over a fairy tale. But

something in me revolted against these thoughts and some angry inner voice cried out, ‘Don’t

believe that it was all imagination. Don’t believe a cheap and ugly truth’. I went over and over

these things in my mind in a kind of joyless and futile circle dance until I eventually drifted

off to sleep. And dreamed.

I was in a school room with bare windows and intensely whitewashed walls. There were about

thirty boys and girls seated at rows of wooden desks and I was sitting three rows from the

front at a desk far too small to fit me comfortably. A bright ray of sunlight like the beam of a

spotlight slanted down to where I sat trapped in its discomforting glare.

A large square shouldered man, whose solidity suggested he had been built rather than born

stood at the front of of the class and was hurling a question at me. ‘Define a horse! Define a

horse!’ 118 Each time the question was repeated the desk shrank a little and tightened around

me. I tried to answer but everything that was horse had vanished from my mind. The very

word ‘horse’ that I was being asked to define might have been Russian or Chinese for all I

knew.

Define a horse! Define a horse!’ The question kept coming and the desk kept shrinking until

the tightness became unbearable and I could no longer breathe. Define a horse! Define a

horse!’ Then with a final contraction the desk tightened and snapped with an explosive crack

throwing me up and out of the window. I was lying on the carpet in the front room of a

respectable suburban house. On either side of me sitting in comfortable armchairs and

drinking tea were three horses. ‘What is it Annette? 119’ asked one of the horses. ‘I am not sure

Anna but it is in much need of definition. I cannot say without it being properly defined.’ ‘It is

so bothersome to have something like that lying on one’s carpet without being sure what it is.’

‘Do you think it would like a cup of tea?’ asked the third horse and picking up a cup from the

side table emptied it over my head.

I awoke, it was raining and water was dripping down from the canopy above. I shook my head

and looked around. It was already dusk and made darker by the rain clouds that had moved in

while I was sleeping. Milan had dozed off and like me had been awakened by the rain.

‘What do you think, He said sleepily, shall we wait for the rain to pass, or set off soon?’

I got to my feet, yawned, stretched and asked.

How long will it take us to get to that place you were talking about?

Gull Barge? About eight hours walking I would think.

Then let’s have something to eat and hang around here a little longer. We have the whole night

ahead.

After we had eaten the rain had subsided into a thin drizzle and moon shone as though

through a curtain of gauze giving us just enough light to see the road ahead. It was a long but

easy walk. We had all night so there was no need to hurry so we ambled slowly along for most

of the time lost in our own thoughts. Very few cars past us and we could see the headlights

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coming long before we heard the sound of the engine and we had plenty of time to clamber

over a gate or through a gap in the hedge to conceal ourselves from view. Only once did we

have to fling ourselves into the ditch and lie still at the side of the road as the lights of a car

travelling too fast to hide from swept over us. My bag provided hot tea and chocolate when

we rested too damp and cold to pause for long. I had given up wondering how the bag

worked. I had never wanted to think of what it did as ‘magic’. Now I simply didn’t care. Even

the cold graze of gun metal when I reached inside no longer bothered me. The revulsion and

fear I used to have when I touched the gun had gone. Melted away like Indigo. I had used it. I

had shot someone. The first time is almost always the hardest, the second comes easier in

nearly everything. I knew now that I would be able to complete the mission I had been given.

We came over the brow of a green hill just as the sun was colouring the sky above the horizon

salmon and peach pink and saw the tiny port spread out below, fishing boats bobbing like

black beetles in the inky water of the harbour. In the distance a bell began to ring. We came

down the hill past a chill, squat chapel and we did so I heard a sonorous voice proclaiming

something that sounded like poetry, though I could only catch the odd word.

… boskier ….. blithe …. spring

…bright with birds………

And ……….. than I to sing

…….. this beauteous morning. 120

Milan grabbed my arm and hurried me on.

I should have warned you. I should have told you.

Told me what? Warned me about what?

The voices! Don’t listen to the voices.

What voices? Ghosts? The dead?

The dead and the living. This place is full of voices. I’ve never liked it. Come just keep

walking.

He said no more but hurried on ahead of me down the hill and I trotted after him trying to

keep up. I thought he was just being overly dramatic and did not understand but I was soon to

realise what meant. As we entered the village all around me in the pink and whitewashed twostoried

houses I could hear whispering voices. And not just voices I could the hear frying-pans

spit, kettles and cats purr in the kitchen.

Yesterday we had mole. Monday, otter. Tuesday, shrews.

I don't want persons in my nice clean rooms breathing all over the

chairs... ...and putting their feet on my carpets and sneezing on my

china and sleeping in my sheets..

There's a nasty lot live here when you come to think.

Persons with manners do not read at table

…herring gulls heckling down to the harbour where the

fishermen spit and prop the morning up and eye the fishy

sea smooth to the sea's end as it lulls in blue. Green and

gold money, tobacco, tinned salmon, hats with feathers,

pots of fish-paste, warmth for the winter-to-be, weave and

leap in it rich and slippery in the flash and shapes of

fishes through the cold sea-streets.

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Milan was right. I covered my ears. To be in the village was to be in the centre a whirlwind of

dust and leaves, torn paper and cigarette ends, lost love letters, dropped notes, cryptic words

on the back of a cigarette packet, all the debris, detritus and treasure of the street. It was

standing by the sea wall when a wave high as a house crashed over it. Hands pressed tight to

my head I hurried after Milan, past the tower of the town hall, pas Schooner House, down the

main street to the harbour where several fishing boats and small dinghies were moored to

stone jetty. Now the voices were behind me and less distinct, like a hundred radios playing in

the distance, songs and words, laughter, sobbing and shouting, dogs barking and all the clatter

and clamour of life. On one of the boats a white haired old man sat on a wooden chair gazing

out to sea singing quietly to himself.

Johnnie Crack and Flossie Snail

Kept their baby in a milking pail

Flossie Snail and Johnnie Crack

One would pull it out and one would put it back

As Milan jumped on board he turned towards us and I knew from his pale eggwhite eyes with

their barely visible clouded blue yolks that he was blind. Dead white eyes wet with tears.

Milan! He cried, rising and grasping the back of the wooden chair. Cat’s feet in donkey’s

shoes. It must be Milan. You’ve brought me news of Katie? There is someone with you?

My friend You, said Milan, Katie is fine but this time she did not send me. I am hear to ask

you a favour.

Captain Katz sat down again on the chair and we squatted on the deck at his feet.

What kind of favour? What can a blind old man like me have to offer you? Except stories and

memories. Those are all I have left now.

The Captain took a short black pipe and pouch of tobacco from his pocket and lit his pipe

while waiting for Milan’s reply.

Milan told the Captain our story from the time we first met, how I had been stabbed by one of

Katie’s boys, and how I had been captured, then shot Claus Ferrara the Duke d’Este and how

we had escaped and were now on the run, trying to reach the Palace of the Golden Moon in

the hope getting a fair hearing from The Empress. And how we needed a boat to take us a

little further down the coast before we could safely use the roads again.

The Captain smiled broadly and I though I could detect a faint light in his dead eyes, like the

glimpse of a pale sun through a threadbare patch of cloud on a grey overcast day.

I can do that for you. And at no cost. We rarely take the Arethusa out these days, but I have a

bit of cargo to deliver. Nothing much but it will pay for short trip.. Just firewood, iron-ware,

and cheap tin trays. 121 A days sailing will take us round the promontory and there is a quiet

bay where I can drop you off. Bob does the sailing now, when I can persuade him to go out.

His heart is not really in it. The sea is not for either of my children.

Where is Bob?

Below deck. Sleeping it off. As usual. We are already loaded and there is no reason why we

can’t sail as soon as he is awake and in a fit state to leave. If that is what you want. Put your

things down below. We scrambled down a short ladder into a tiny cabin with two bunk beds

and just about enough room for us to stow our bags. On the lower bunk lay a boy with tousled

reddish gold hair, curls falling across his face. His full lips were partially open as he wheezed

quietly with each breath. A bottle under his bunk rolled gently back and forth with each

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movement of the boat. He stirred, groaned in his sleep, but did not wake as we entered the

cabin put our things in a locker and then left him undisturbed.

Bob, said Milan unnecessarily as we sat on deck with our backs to the wheel-house.

Though blind Captain Katz was able to find his way around the confined space of the small

fishing boat as well as any sighted man. He climbed down the ladder and we could hear him

urging Bob to wake up and come on deck. It was some time later that the two of them finally

emerged, Bob muttering curses under his breath, clearly not happy at being woken so early in

the day. Then he saw Milan and a teasing smile spread across his face.

Milan! Milan the poet and his friend. What brings you here on the Arethusa? Why are we thus

honoured on this bright morning.

Milan could barely conceal his irritation as he grunted his hello in return.

Captain Katz cut in and explained in great detail the reason for our presence and all Milan had

told him earlier.

An adventure, said Bob, a great adventure for a poet. For the poets I have read of were never

the adventurous kind. Except in their work of course. ‘Oft I have travelled in The Realms of

Gold…’ and all that stuff. I would not have put you down as an adventurer Milan. You have

surprised me again.

While Bob was talking Captain Katz had found the mooring rope and cast off.

Take the wheel Bob. Less talking. Take us out of harbour.

Aye, aye Captain father.

Bob entered the little wheel house, the engine started and we moved away from the jetty.

It has to be said that as he took the boat out of the shelter of the harbour in to the open sea

beyond he showed a great deal more skill that the owner of the last boat we had been in.

Once out at sea we picked up a light breeze and Bob cut the engine and raised the sail.

Well done Bob said the Captain with grudging approval

Above us seagulls circled and cried, hoping for fish to be caught and gutted and what we

would not eat they would take.

… all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. 122

Proclaimed Bob loudly from inside the wheelhouse.

Is that one of yours Milan?

No! said Milan sharply, I don’t know whose it is.

Oh, no I am in error. You are the bird poet of course. Not the sea poet. The cackling of

cunning chaffinches in capricious Carmarthen. How is you work coming along?

It is coming along well, thank you. But I would rather not talk about it just know if you don’t

mind, replied Milan making an effort to be civil.

But Bob took no notice and continued to taunt Milan and completely ignored me.

The pathetic peeping of pelicans in Pembrokeshire. No that will not do at all. Whatever sound

pelicans make I’m sure they don’t peep. Oh, how I envy your talent Milan.

You know you should let your birds go free. Just open your mouth wide and release them to

fly out and up in a swirling whirl of feathered foam to become clouds in a seagull speckled

sky. That’s what you should do Milan. Set your birds free. Now we have left the harbour

behind us I must concentrate. I must navigate.

Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea 123

Who wrote that Milan? No I don’t know either, but I know he made a mistake. Do you see the

mistake Milan. I’m sure as another poet you must.

No! snapped Milan, I can’t see any mistake.

! 153

But it should be ‘And may there be no moaning AT the bar’ not ‘of the bar’. The bar of the

White Horse I mean. We will have no moaning there, that’s true enough. And how I wish I

was there right now with a pint of ale in one hand and my other round my girl. Isn’t that what

where you would rather be Milan. Instead of being stuck on this bobbing bucketing half-shell

of a boat? Do you have anything to drink with you Milan? And I don’t mean tea or coffee?

My head, my head. How I could do with a strong drink. Now I know my father has a bottle of

rum hidden somewhere on this boat. All Captains have rum. Can I have a tot of rum father

dearest, now I have got us safely out of harbour?

Captain Katz just gave a snort of derision.

It seems not. So I will have to suffer. Life is suffering sure enough. A Vale of Tears. And the

only consolation we have is poetry… Or is it love? What do you think Milan is it poetry or

love?

But Milan refused to answer. This in no way deterred Bob who stood in the tiny wheelhouse

like a preacher in a pulpit and continued with harangue.

Milan I would like to ask your advice. I have also written a poem. But I confess, I have been

to embarrassed to ask anyone’s opinion. But you as both a friend and a poet. I feel I can trust

you to give me an honest answer. I’ll just give you the first few lines and you can tell me what

you think.

Bob threw back his head and annunciated in the cathedral tones of a bishop giving the Easter

address.

About eight O'clock in the morning, we left the vessel in a dory,

And I hope all kind christians will take heed to my story;

Well, while we were at our work, the sky began to frown,

And with a dense fog we were suddenly shut down. 124

What do you think Milan? Is it any good should I go on with it? Be honest tell me now.

I’d rather not say, replied Milan.

Please. Please give me your opinion as a poet. Is it wholly bad? Should I go on with it? Tell

me.

Very well. It is not wholly bad and you should go on with it.

With that Milan stamped his way down to the cabin to join the Captain and vanished from

sight.

Bob threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Not wholly bad! Our poet says it is not wholly bad!

I realised then that the reason Milan was so upset and had such a dislike of Bob was because it

was Bob who was the real poet and that Milan would never complete his Birds of England

poem. And did not really want to.

There are those people who get the greatest satisfaction from turning down an opportunity.

Not because they lack talent or find the work and effort involved onerous but simply because

the offer in itself is enough. They complete the task in their imagination things, are brought to

a successful conclusion and they collect the applause and admiration they feel they deserve

for a job well done and there is no risk of failure. No risk of being compared with someone

considered better, more talented, more enjoyable or rewarding. It is not only in sports that the

gold medal, the first place, the top seed are all important and to be in second or third place is

to fail. And – God help us – fourth and fifth place. Who would admit to the shame of being

only fifth best in the world? Some of us, like me, would be happy to be the thousandth or the

tenthousandth best out the billion in the world but not Mi and others like him. For them it was

better not to play the game for fear of destroying the dream.

After his laughter died down Bob’s eyes lighted on me.

! 154

Milan’s friend. Do you have a drink on you? God, water, water all around and not a drop to

drink. 125 Are you sure you do not have a drop of something in that bag of yours, friend of

Milan. Or a hip flask perhaps?

Desperate not to be teased and taunted as Milan had been I told Bob to wait and I also went

down into the cabin. The Captain lay asleep on the bottom bunk and Mi sulked silently on the

top. I found my bag and reached inside. Sure enough I found a bottle and took it up to Bob.

Oh the excellent friend of Milan returns with a bottle. A fine malt ale I hope. For

…malt does more than Milton can

To justify God’s ways to man.

Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink

For fellows whom it hurts to think:

Look into the pewter pot

To see the world as the world’s not. 126

Oh, how we all need to see the world as it is not. A Shropshire lad said that. Are you a poet

friend of Milan’s?

I said that I was not.

Good, poetry is not a career, but a mug's game. 127

The sea is calm tonight. The tide is full, the moon lies fair, 128 and I have a bottle in y hand and

a packet of cigarettes in my pocket. Who could ask for more, eh, friend of Milan’s?

Now he had a drink Bob lost interest in me and I lay back against the wall of the wheelhouse

and dozed through the night lulled to sleep by the rocking of the boat and Bob’s a musicality

that had crept into Bob’s voice as he continued to mutter to himself, albeit at a much lower

volume now he had no one to torment.

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs

About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,

The night above the dingle starry 129

I was awakened by Bob calling,

Night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near that we can touch the spaces, It 's time to

smooth the hair and get the dimples ready! 130

We were moored in the scallop of a sheltered bay. Low rounded green hills rose from behind

the sand dunes beyond the beach. Captain Katz who was already awake and on deck dropped

an anchor over the side.

This is as close in as we can take you, he said. But it’s shallow enough for you to wade to

shore. Go and wake Milan.

A few minutes later carrying our clothes and bags bundled up on our heads we waded

carefully through water almost up to our shoulders. The sand was soft yet firm beneath our

bare feet and once we had got over the initial shock of cold the water was refreshing

exhilarating washing away all tiredness and fatigue of the night and the long walk the

previous day. By the time we gained the shore had crossed the beach and climbed a dune

where we paused to dress, the Arethusa was already sailing out of the bay. On deck a tiny

figure waved goodbye, though if it was Bob or Captain Katz I could not tell.

Now we were on our own again Mi’s spirits rose though he was far from being his usual

amiable self. The subject of Bob was not mentioned again after Milan said,

Now, you see what I mean about Bob.

Beyond the dunes we found a path that led us up one of the hills, its grass cropped short the

grazing of sheep that we saw scattered across the slope. From the hill top we could see a road.

Which way? I asked.

! 155

Inland, said Milan, we keep going inland. It should not take us more than a day or two from

here.

That night we found a barn and slept in the hay. I remembered the hayloft of the inn I had

stayed in with Indigo. Not long after I had started this journey.

The countryside we waked through was gentler and easier walking than it had been to the

north. We passed the ordered rows of open vineyards and fields of sunflowers and purple

lavender and the tall spears of maize that stretched as far as we could see on either side.

Though we saw a good many people on our way most took no notice of us unless it was to

wish us Good Morning or Good afternoon. Cars and trucks drove by but we made no attempt

to try for a lift. And we kept to the small lanes and byways avoiding the highway. Bob’s

teasing had obviously cut deep as Milan said very little as we walked along.

A day later as we walked down a narrow lane our footsteps echoing on the asphalt between

the high grass banks topped with a tumble of hedge on either side I no longer wanted to go on

in silence and knew the one topic that had always been sure to get Mi talking was poetry, so I

risked a question,

Have you any new poems Mi?

Actually I was thinking of one a while back when we were standing on the bridge. Just a few

lines and I’m not sure where they go from there.

There are weevils in my food

And water in my wine

The big black bear has left the wood

And my poetry won’t rhyme

properly.

131

I had noticed two distinct things about Milan’s poetry, he was very fond of alliteration and he

never seemed to be able to finish a poem.

What’s the big black bear? I asked

Oh, the poems going to be about how difficult it is to write poetry, and the black bear is just a

symbol of that feeling you get when you just can’t find the right rhyme.

So that’s why you rhymed food and wood and wine and rhyme. That’s really clever. Is it

called prosody or something like that?

Is it? Clever I mean. Yes I suppose it is now I think about it. I’ve never heard of prosody. I

call it half-rhyme.

I’ve heard it called slant rhyme as well.

Slant rhyme? I like that. It fits better.

What about the bird poem. How are you doing with Norfolk?

Not very well. I have,

The nightly nagging of nightingales in the northern Norfolk night.

but I’m not satisfied with it.

Perhaps nightjars would be better than nightingales. I’m not sure that nightingales sound as if

the nag but I think nightjars might.

Really? Nightjars it is then.

The nightly nagging of nightjars in the northern Norfolk night. Yes, that’s much better, but I

still don’t like northern. I doesn’t seem right. It’s too easy. Can you think of anything?

Well, there’s nameless, narcotic, nascent, nebulous, numinous, nefarious and nasty. No forget

nasty.

! 156

Numinous! Why didn’t I think of that?

The nightly nagging of nightjars in the numinous Norfolk night

Oh, but we still have too many nights I think. Nightly, nightjars and night.

What about replacing nightly with nascent? It kind of suggests that night has just fallen and

the nightjars are just starting their nagging.

The nascent nagging of nightjars in the numinous Norfolk night! You you are a genius! That is

a prefect line. Thank you! I’m almost there. Then all I have to do is string my lines together to

make the complete poem. That will be the easy part.

We spent the rest of the way to the main road trying to think of a line for the county Durham

without success.

The lane ended when it met wide main road and on the other side of the junction was our bus

stop. Standing beside the stop sign was a man in a black coat and hat dancing a jigging up and

down and kicking his legs out in the most peculiar manner. After we crossed the road and got

closer I recognized him.

Mr Marz! Mr Marz, what are you doing?

You! I’m dancing. I’m dancing a jig.

But why?

Because The Empress has told us to. That and because I am happy. I should be signing too

You’ve got to ac-cent-tchu-ate the positive… ! 132 No, I’m exhausted. I need to rest a little.

I’m so happy because I am finally going to see The Empress.

He took a letter from his pocket and waved it in front of us.

I wrote to her from the hospital telling her who I was and why I wanted to meet her. And she

wrote back! She said I would have been invited to the coronation but everyone thought I was

dead or dying. And I would have been if it hadn’t been for You! So now I have this official

invitation to the palace. But what are you doing here?

We are on the way to see The Empress too but I have no idea if we will be allowed into the

palace.

Not allowed into the palace? But you can come with me! See it says ‘Mr Inknavar Marz and

Guests’. But there was no one I could invite so I was going to go alone. But you can be my

guests. You and your friend. But where is your catape. Your Indigo?

I left it to Mi to tell him what had happened.

We could hear the bus before we saw it. Someone was playing an accordion and everyone was

singing. Mi stuck out his arm, the bus stopped and we climbed on. Most people were sitting

down at the front where a skinny youth with green hair was playing the accordion, and

leading the passengers in a series of favourite songs, so there was still some room at the back.

The three of us squeezed on to one bench seat and the conductor came dancing down the aisle

to collect our money as the bus moved off again.

See, everyone is dancing, said Mr Marz.

As the bus went on the passengers bawled out Oh, Susanna! – Alouette – Clementine- and

other songs, some even got up and danced in the aisle along with the conductor. It was

impossible to make any kind of conversation and Milan was still telling Mr Marz about my

imprisonment and escape from the Duke’s castle so I just sat and looked out of the window.

I heard Mr Marz say, I am sure The Empress will will be merciful…

Everyone we passed seemed to be skipping or dancing. Some had obviously prepared and

were dressed up in traditional costumes and doing complicated folk dances while others were

merely capering around like Mr Marz had been at the bus stop. The bus slowed down and

! 157

when I leaned forward to look out of the window I saw a huge herd of sheep blocking the

road. The bus forged ahead like an ocean liner pushing its way through a living sea, the sheep

parting like waves to let it through. After the sheep came cattle and then pigs and then sheep

again. Ducking and dodging among the slowly moving herds I thought I glimpsed small black

ponies with children on their backs.

What is going on? I yelled to Mr Marz who was sitting beside me.

The Farmer’s Crusade on their way to the palace. We are lucky that this is not the whole thing

or we would never have got through.

What happened to the rest of them?

They turned off east a long way back. These are just the ones that are going to go to The

Palace of the Golden Moon to thank The Empress for the compensation she has paid them

forgoing vegetarian. I have heard that she has been very generous.

The compensation must have been generous I thought as even the farmers are dancing. I saw

three of them spinning like tops, knees bents and fingers clicking. 133The bus emerged from

the sea of animals gathered speed again, but it was only few minutes later that we heard a

wagon hooting its horn behind us and the bus pulled over to the side of the road to let a

convoy of a dozen or so open top trucks pass by. Each truck was packed with men.

Those are the Duke’s men! cried Mi, I recognize some of them. I wonder if they going to the

palace? And did you notice among the sheep and cattle there were the Children in Black? I’m

sure I saw them.

The bus started off again and in less than an hour I got my first view of The Palace of the

Golden Moon. We rounded a corner and I could see it in the distance rising from the plain like

a jagged ivory mountain, with all its towers, turrets, domes and spires with fluttering

pennants, surrounded by a ring of brightly coloured tents and pavilions, caravans and camper

vans, and everywhere a crowded throng of people all hoping to get a glimpse of The Empress.

We got off the bus at the start of the drive that led down through the multi coloured tents to

the castle gates. Someone had built a makeshift stage and on it a band was playing wild gypsy

music and we had to weave in and out of the dancers. Old Mr Marz linked arms with Mi and

shuffled ahead while I followed close behind trying not to lose them in the whirling crowd. A

girl tugged on my arm as she spun by,

Will you join the dance?

Won’t you? cried another.

Will You?

Won’t you? 134

But before I could reply they were gone and I struggled on trying to keep up with Mi and Mr

Marz.

Come and join us! A conga of dancers snaked its way in and in between the others picking up

more dancers on the way.

Come and join us! A man and woman skipped up on either side of me, took my arms and tried

to pull me into the dancing throng.

I pulled myself free.

I can’t dance! I shouted.

Everyone can dance! They shouted back. Just tell your feet where to go, and, and watch ‘em

go and come back. Dance like the wind is pushing you!

! 158

Anyone can dance! cried a large man bewhiskered in a top hat and wearing a long brown coat.

See me dance the polka!

Hippety hop, to the barber shop,

To buy a stick of candy. 135

Mr Wagg, you dance the polka like a bear! 136 Someone shouted.

I caught up with Mr Marz and Mi.

I thought I was going to lose you, I said, I almost got dragged away by the dancers.

Link arms with me, said Mr Marz, and we’ll stay together.

A woman in a pepper crimson dress, with red socks and red hat shot by like a crimson arrow

and spun around to dance with one man then another in the red whirling clash of the music.

Our feet deserted the logic of simple steps to find their own kind of mathematics and cut lose

to join the dance taking the three of us with them. We made our way through the mass of

people from the tent city on either side of us came other kinds of music, the rhythmic thud,

thud, thud of drums, the frantic jangle of a rock ‘n roll guitar, the crackle, clack and whizz of

flamenco guitar and castanets. In some places there were stages for the bands, in others people

formed clapping cheering circles around the musicians and dancers.

And all the time people shouted as we passed,

Will you join the dance?

Won’t you join the dance?

But we just laughed and said we were on our way to meet The Empress and would not, could

not join the dance.

So with linked arms we cavorted and capered our way down the driveway.

My black bag swung to and fro and banged against my thigh, the gun inside heavy and

ominous.

As we neared the Palace of the Golden Moon I began to see that it was not the ivory and

crystal fairy tale palace I had seen from the road. It was certainly massive, a whole fantastical

city of towers, turreted walls domes and minarets topped with banners and pennants waving in

the wind, but it seemed older and shabbier than I had imagined. There were patches of

greenish grey mildew on the ivory walls and patches of stucco had crumbled away exposing

the stone beneath. Ivy had started to send its green tendrils up towards the lower windows.

The gilt was starting to flake away on the great gilded gates showing scattered patches of

black iron beneath.

Even the flags looked threadbare and worn when we could see them close up.

This fabulous palace that had been built only…. As always I struggled to think of time. I only

knew it was not long ago. But was it years, months, or even days? Whenever I tried to grasp a

time it wriggled and slipped from my fingers and splashed back into the ocean of the past like

a little silver fish. Some times we remember times from long ago when we were young, some

joyous times, some terrible, and we say, Why that seems like only yesterday! Ever since I

started my journey when I tried to remember, every memory seemed like ‘only yesterday’ or

even ‘only an hour or two ago’. How long ago was it that I had said goodbye to Mr Mangabey

and left my home to enter the dark woods with Indigo? Only yesterday! How long was it since

we slept in William’s cabin on the lake island? Only yesterday! How long was it since Indigo

had left me? Just a moment ago. Just a single note from a guitar string ago.

This fabulous palace that had been built only a while ago now looked centuries old.

! 159

When we reached the gates a large surly looking man stood by a mall side entrance checking

people’s papers before letting them through. He was not wearing any official uniform of a

palace guard but a leather jacket, ex-army camouflage trousers and a red baseball cap. He was

also holding an ugly looking baseball bat.

I felt Milan’s grip tighten on my arm.

It’s one of the Duke’s men, he whispered.

We could not turn back now and had no choice but to go on.

If you are here to look around the palace you will have to join the queue around the other side.

And you will have to have tickets.

We don’t have a ticket, we have… Mr Marz started to say, but the guard cut in,

Tickets are booked up for years in advance. The whole world wants to see the palace. You will

be very old men before you step The Palace of the Golden Moon.

We don’t have a ticket, we have an invitation. An official invitation, said Mr Marz and

showed the guard his letter.

The guard examined it closely before saying,

So you are the shoemaker called Inknavar Marz. I have heard of you. But who are these? He

nodded towards me and Milan.

They are my guests. It says in the letter I can bring guests.

Guests? The guard looked up and stared at us. For a moment I though he was going call for

help and seize us, but he lowered his eyes to the letter again.

Guests?

Yes, said Mr Marz, They are my sons. Ivan and …. Boris.

Your sons? Very well you can pass.

The handed back the letter to Mr Marz and we were waved through leaving the dancing crowd

behind us.

Come on Ivan! Come on Boris! And he started to stride down the long gravel path that led

towards a flight of marble steps that soared up towards the golden doors of the palace itself.

As we did so a young man in a green uniform with gold and silver trimmings shouted

something and came running up behind us.

As we turned to meet him I saw a flash of vermillion and something flash past the guard at the

gate and a small black figure vanish between the high box hedges of the palace gardens. The

Duke’s man took no notice at all and seemed oblivious to the fact someone had run right

through the gate passing within inches of him as he stood guard.

I looked at Mi to see if he had seen it too, he nodded,

Katie Katz! They’re back here again.

The young man in uniform caught up with us, rather out of breath he gasped,

You can’t just go wandering in on your own, you know. I will guide you into the palace. I

understand you have an official invitation. Then you will need to be taken to the Audience

Hall. Come this way.

And he led us on down the gravel path pointing out features that he though might interest us

like a tour guide might to a group of visitors.

You see that balcony up there above the main entrance to the Palace? That’s where The

Empress and Psychopomp appear to make official proclamations. These proclamations are

relayed to television and social media all around the word and are shown on giant screens that

erected just out side the Palace wall for all those camped outside to have a proper close up

! 160

view. That tower to the right is The Tower of the East Wind, the one on the left The Tower of

the West Wind. The tallest central tower is The Tower of the Golden Moon and that is where

The Empress lives. If you look to your left you can see a building with a golden dome; that is

where the administrative offices are found and it is one of the four buildings not open to the

public. The four are The Administrative Offices, The Staff Quarters, The Kitchens and, of

course, The Royal Apartments. The rest of the palace is open to the public but The Empress

has decreed that much the palace will be

The extensive gardens you see around us are the largest in the world covering over two

hundred and fifty hectares and are based on some of the most famous gardens in the world

including among others the gardens of the Château de Versailles, The Master of Nets garden,

in China, the Villa d'Este and Hidcote Garden in England.

He paused for a moment to allow us to admire the gardens but seemed completely unaware of

the small black figures that darted from bush to bush.

There are exactly one hundred and fifty steps leading up to the main entrance to the palace.

They are made of the finest Italian Calacatta marble. The bronze doors are based on the

Ghilberi’s East Doors of The Baptistery in Florence. Except, as you can see, that the themes

depicted are of a secular and not a religious nature

Our guide let us though the huge bronze doors and into the vast marble entrance hall of the

palace.

Follow me the Audience Hall is this Way.

We had got barely half way across floor of the entrance hall when a pallid faced woman

wearing a black and gold uniform that looked too large for her intercepted us and asked,

Are you Mr Inknavar Marz?

Yes, and these are my guests.

The woman turned to our guide and said,

Dmitry, The Empress has asked to see Mr Marz and his guests in her private apartments and

not in the Audience Hall as this is a personal invitation from Her Majesty.

Very well, Miss Saritsagara. I will leave you to show them the way to the Royal Apartments.

We thanked our guide and followed Miss Saritsagara over towards a row of lift doors to one

side of the entrance hall.

My name is Kathy Saritsagara, our new guide said, and I am one of The Empress’s personal

body guards. I’ll take you up to the Royal Appartments. You have one hour with Her Majesty

and then I will return and escort you to the gate.

You are one of The Six? asked Mi.

Yes, that’s right. she replied, You have heard of us then?

I don’t think there is anyone in the world who hasn’t Mi replied.

Except me, I thought, I know nothing about this world. I was given my instructions and that

was all. I wished that Indigo could have been there to reassure me that things would turn out

for the best and I clutched my bag to my side.

As we approached the lifts one of the doors opened and a very good looking fair haired man

in a charcoal grey suit stepped out, he was accompanied by a woman in a black suit and

several uniformed attendants.

Mr Marz staggered and grasped my arm to steady himself.

Who was that?

Kathy Saritsagara laughed.

! 161

You mean you did not recognize him? You must be the only one in the world who doesn’t.

That was James McQuarry. The Psychopomp. He looks very different when he is not wearing

his robes of office. doesn’t he? Most people expect him to be much taller. But please, step

inside the lift, we must not be late for The Empress.

Mr Marz looked pale and shaken as he stood beside me in the lift and I could not understand

why.

Is there anything wrong? Are you not feeling well? I asked.

No. No. Nothing is wrong. It is just that all this... all the excitement has been a little too much

for me. I am an old man remember. I will be fine in a minute or two.

But I could tell by the tremor in his voice that there was something wrong.

I’m sorry about all the searches and questioning you went through at the gates, said Miss

Saritsagara. I know it’s very disagreeable but it is necessary. We have to be very careful when

we allow people an audience with The Empress. There are still people out there who would

harm her if they could. So I am sure you understand all our precautions.

We didn’t… began Mi.

I knew he was about to say we didn’t go through any searches or questioning and kicked him

sharply on his ankle.

We didn’t… uh!... mind at all!

Kathy Saritsagara ushered us out of the lift and let us down a maze off corridors.

We are actually inside The Tower of the Golden Moon, she said, you can’t really tell how big

it actually is when you look at it from outside.

Did you see it? Mi whispered.

What?

Going down those stairs we just passed. I thought I saw someone in black. Just a glimpse. It

could have been a shadow but I think they’re here You. They’re in the palace!

At the end of a long paneled corridor we saw a guard in the same black and gold uniform as

Kathy Saritsagara standing in front of a tall polished oak door.

Hi Illya Here are Mr Marz and his two guests. And turning to us before walking away she

said, I’ll be see all you again in an hour.

The Empress is expecting you, please go in. Illya opened the door and ushered us in.

The Letter

James and Dr Fell sat in Artemesia’s office. Outside the windows just a touch of deep Spanish

blue in the blackness suggested the coming of dawn.

I hope you have a very good reason for bringing us here at this time in the morning, growled

James, it is not even light yet and I’m still half asleep. Do you have any coffee?

You won’t need coffee you’ll wake up soon enough soon enough when you read this.

Artemesia threw down a copy of The New York Times.

The Headline read The Folly of Dr Fiona Fell.

They had printed Simon’s letter in full.

! 162

This is has not yet gone to press. What you see is the advance proof copy that a friend on the

NYT has emailed me. Let me read you this part…

Your idea of creating a typhus outbreak is brilliant, and typical of the Fiona I adore. The

inspectors will be too scared of infection to look too closely. Just let them look through the

window into a packed isolation ward and see what brilliant work you are doing to save the

situation.

Fiona gripped the arms of her chair and her knuckles were white. When she spoke she was

almost choking with rage.

It’s that… vile Dr Williams behind this! The thing’s a fake!

Oh Fiona, Artemesia sighed, please calm down and be sensible. Of course it is Dr Williams

who has released this letter. You were accusing him of malpractice. Quite falsely it seems.

We might have been able to get away with claiming it is a forgery except that the writer -

Simon? – has already confirmed the truth of it and given an interview that is being written

down even as we speak, I expect. And I can tell you Fiona, ‘Hell hath no fury like a boy friend

spurned.’ Especially spurned by SMS. You should not have ditched him so soon.

I can’t see any way out of this. We have to distance you from James. I suggest you make a

statement as soon as possible. Make it confessional. Admit everything, say you were under

unbearable stress and having some kind of breakdown. On our side we say that although

James is devastated and disappointed he understands that you were under tremendous stress

and then he’ll add that because of the good work you have done recently he will be paying to

send you to a clinic to receive therapy. That gets you out of the spotlight.

Something along those lines. It might just get us a little sympathy in the press.

I can’t see that there are any criminal charges that will be brought. I’m sure we can negotiate

with Dr. Williams. It was The Foundation you defrauded and we will not be taking things

further. You have wrecked your career but we can probably find you a decent job in our

organization after things die down.

I will not resign! You will sort this out! And I am not being sent off for any bloody therapy!

She was on her feet, leaning towards Artemesia, her fists clenched. For a moment James

though she was going to hit her.

Fiona… Fiona. You have no choice. Everything is against you. Sit down and think about it.

Oh yes, I do have a choice, Fiona spat out the words, Oh, yes I do! You have to sort his out.

And do you know why?

No I don’t. Perhaps you would like to tell us. I’m sure James would like to know too.

Wouldn’t you James?

James said nothing, he had taken out his phone and was tapping on the screen.

Fioan looked at him with contempt.

Because it is not just me that will go down. I was a friend of Claus Ferrara and he brought a

dying old man to our hospital. An old man who had been knocked down by a hit and run

driver. Knocked down and left to die by the side of the road. What kind of bastard does that

Artemesia? Later on I got to know Claus better and he told me everything. He wrote down the

details of everything that happened, because he realized that at some time in the future he

would want you to return the favour. But now Claus is dead and I am here. And I am asking

for that favour back. In spades! The wonderful Psychopomp, the beloved James McQuarry

leaving an old man to die at the side of the road. Now that is a crime.

James stood up and took Fiona’s hand.

! 163

Fiona, I have no intention of letting you down, no matter what Artemesia says. I have sent a

message to the editor of the NYT and the article is now on hold. Artemesia I am disappointed

in you. There must be a way to discredit Dr. Williams and this…Simon. Very soon I will be in

a position where I am unassailable, we cannot allow anything to stop us know. Since the

Proclamation of Equality I have been given the backing of a great many very rich and very

powerful people. We can turn it into a minor affair and keep it out of news.

James! You can’t cover up a thing like this! Even if you have all the major papers and TV

channels in your pocket – and you haven’t got them all – there are plenty of other ways the

news will spread. You have to persuade Fiona to resign if I can’t. Fiona, you must destroy

anything the Duke gave you concerning the accident. Any evidence you have against us. You

have to trust us. We are trying to find the best way out of this.

Us? Trust us? I trust James but I don’t trust you. I don’t trust you as far as I can…spit!

Remember it was you who was driving the car not James!

Really? Artemesia shrugged and turned to James.

James what are you going to do? You know that you can’t keep this a secret. It’s out know and

you can’t put it back in the bottle, no matter how much you want to. There’s only so long that

the NYT can sit on the story no matter what influence you have. Once it’s out they have to

follow. Make Fiona destroy those documents and offer her resignation. She might listen to

you. She’s not listening to me.

James released Fiona’s hand and put his arm around her shoulder.

This conversation is pointless. I have already told Fiona that I am standing by her whatever

happens. I have asked you to think of a solution and sort the problem out. If you don’t want to

then I shall, and I will be asking for your resignation.

James! Oh, James that is just crazy.

Crazy? There are over two hundred and fifty of the Dukes men inside and outside the palace

and they are now working for me. I am now ready to take control. I’m going to bring the

announcement forward and this afternoon I will tell the people that I am taking over from The

Empress.

You can’t! It’s too soon. You’re popular but you don’t have the people behind you yet. You

have to wait until The Proclamation of Equality causes real unrest. It’s not enough to just have

a few of your powerful friends on your side. You need support from the people too. all the

millions who are going to be worse of. It hasn’t hit them yet. They’re still behind The

Empress. You don’t realize how much the people love The Empress. They’ll tear you to pieces

if you try to seize power now. Remember this man Marz he is still alive. He started the

movement the put The Empress on the throne. You have to find him before you do anything

else. To go ahead before we are properly prepared… It’s madness!

Artemesia we have come a long way together and for that reason I am going to offer you one

more chance. Are you going to support my plan to take power or are you going to offer

another solution, and not one that involves Fiona resigning? We also still have a stockpile of

armaments on Mayoria Borracho and once that arrives here nobody will be able to resist.

Nobody.

Haven’t you heard there has been a coup in Mayoria Borraco? An eventuality I saw and

prepared for. The armaments are in a secure holding and cannot be released until the

Commander receives official permission. And only I can give permission. Not even you. Not

even The Empress can release them. And I have no intention of doing so. It would be a

bloodbath. A massacre. This is not your style James. You are better than this. Do you want to

! 164

be just another tin-pot dictator? You talk of another plan but there is no other plan, James.

Ever since I first became your PA I have always worked tirelessly for you. Given you what I

thought was the best advice. And it was. It got you here. You have to admit that. But there is a

limit to what I can do. I can see no other option that the one I have spelled out. If Fiona has

the slightest concern or affection for you then she will not go ahead with her threat. Can’t you

see that if Fiona resigns then we can come out of this with the minimum of damage? It’s the

only way.

I am not being beaten by that man Williams! I am not resigning! Fix it!

It can’t be fixed. If you are not going to resign then I suppose I have to. Goodbye James.

Artemesia extended her hand but James did not take it.

He took his arm from around Fiona’s shoulder and started to tap on his phone again.

I’m sorry it had to end like this Artemesia. I really am. But you have made your choice, and if

you do not want to help us out of this crisis then that is your decision. I am quite confident

that, with Fiona’s help, I overcome our current difficulties and go on to complete what we

started.

But James can’t you see she’s blackmailing you!

Blackmailing! How dare you! How dare you! I am just telling you what the situation is. That

is all.

You don’t like the word ‘blackmail’? ‘Blackmail is such an ugly word…’ ‘…I prefer

'extortion'. The 'X' makes it sound cool." I’ve always wanted the chance to say that! Thank

you for giving me the opportunity. James you may be blind, but please don’t be blind and

stupid!

Artemesia be careful! You are going too far. Your insults are nothing to me, but I think you

owe Fiona an apology.

Oh, James! How long have you known me? And have you ever known me to apologise to

anyone? Much less this….

Artemesia! I have sent for someone to escort you to your room. You will remain in your

quarters until I give an order for you to go. And you will not leave until you have released

those armaments of mine in Myoria Borracho. Is that clear?

Very clear. Well I guess I do owe Fiona an apology.

She extended her hand and but then swung it up in an arc and slapped Fiona hard across the

face. Then she ran from the room. As she ran down the corridor she heard the sound of

shouting and running feet somewhere behind her, so instead of heading back to her room as

expected she turned in the opposite direction intending to try and reach the flight of stairs that

led up to the Royal Apartments. But when she reached the bottom of the stairs she heard

footsteps hurrying down towards her, so she doubled back and at the end of a passage way

took the stairs going down. They were the stairs leading down to locked door and the The

Caves of Ice.

In the distance The Empress could see what looked like a slow avalanche or a white waterfall

pouring down a hillside. It was her first sight of the offshoot of the Farmer’s Crusade arriving

at the palace. A vast herd of sheep, to be followed by cattle, pigs and goats. She turned away

from the window. If this was just the tiny part of the Crusade that was being allowed to come

on to The Palace of the Golden Moon then how big was the original drove? What devastation

it must have left in its wake. She had been told of the plan to release the animals on to the

plains. It was the best solution anyone could come up with, but she knew it was a poor

! 165

compromise and not a solution. Most of the poor animals would simply starve to death, they

were used to lush green meadows and the comfort of a shed at night, not the tough dry grass

of the plains and sleeping out on the frozen ground. But once the Farmer’s Crusade had

started there had been no turning back. Almost everything she had done seemed to have gone

wrong. And yet she knew what she had done was the right thing. Everybody agreed, the world

is better without guns, it is better not to kill animals, it is better to share with others. Yet still

things had still gone badly wrong. Perhaps James was right it should all have been done

gradually, perhaps over several life times. If he believed that why had he not been more

forceful in his arguments and given in so easily? She was after all still a child with little

experience of the world and he was her advisor. He had always advised caution but never

really pointed out the problems and consequences of her Proclamations - He must have been

able to guess something like this Farmer’s Crusade would happen – instead he seemed to

encourage her. Now she had heard that The Proclamation of Equality was causing all kinds of

problems; instead of sharing people were stealing and fighting over things, the very rich were

refusing to give up more than a tiny part of their wealth, the poorest people in the towns and

cities had lost patience and were just going and taking what they wanted from the houses of

those better off from themselves. There was one picture she could not forget, A woman

dressed in filthy rags and with a tangle of matted hair, showing her black and rotten teeth in a

huge smile as she raised a bottle of champagne to her lips. She covered in diamonds,

necklace, earrings tiara, brooches, rings on all her fingers. I suppose she is happy, thought Em,

but that is not what I meant about sharing.

Then there were the stupid proclamations. The Silly Hat Proclamation, The Picnic

Proclamation, The Tree Climbing Proclamation, The Dancing Proclamation. She had not

really meant these. They had somehow slipped out, unintended. Still the people loved them.

Even from her room in the tower she could hear the sounds of music and laughter drifting up

from out side. But even these had caused problems. They had told her people were taking too

many holidays, they were neglecting their work, it was damaging the economy. Oh why can’t

we forget the economy and just let people have their fun and have their holidays?

She remembered the poor mother whose son had died falling out of a tree. How could she not

feel some responsibility for that?

She remembered her name. And she cringed and curled up inside herself at the thought. They

might all call her The Empress or even the affectionate Em but her true name – the name she

had given herself – was the The Empress Flimzy Bubbletrumpet! That was the name people

whispered and giggled about. How could she have been so stupid? How could she let these

things just burst out of her mouth without any sense or reason? Why did she have to always

blurt out the first thing that came into her head without ever stopping and thinking first?

But was it so bad? After all, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. 137 Wasn’t it better

to have a name that people could giggle over rather than one that pretended to be grand and

serious? The Empress Augusta? The Empress Gloriana the Great? The Empress Victoria? No,

I would not be any of those.

Long live the The Empress Flimzy Bubbletrumpet!

The poor stupid, silly, sad Empress Flimzy Bubbletrumpet, who tried her best.

It was all falling apart. It had been ever since she went into the slaughterhouse. The Palace of

the Golden Moon was crumbling away and no one seemed to notice. Her rooms were shabby

the paintwork peeling, the walls stained with damp. Even her six loyal guards were getting

weaker and frailer by the day; now she only seemed to have two, the valiant Illya Muromets

and Kathy Saritsagara. The others seemed to have just drifted away.

! 166

She remembered that later that day she was to meet Mr Inknavar Marz the man who had

started all this. The man they had not invited to her coronation. The man everyone thought

was dead. She got thousands of letters every day and it had just been luck that one of her staff

recognized his name and brought his letter to her.

How disappointed he must be. What could she say to him?

Oh, TRUDI what am I going to do when I meet Mr Marz?

Instantly the screen on her wall lit up and a voice said,

Listen carefully because you are going to do exactly what I tell you.

A crowd of twisted things

Dys!

You!

Dys! But I came to see The Empress… what are you…

I am The Empress! Oh, You!

I rushed up and flung my arms around my sister. Milan and Mr Marz just stood and stared

open mouthed.

I was carried away on a tide of delight. All I could think was, I have found her! I have found

her! So often on my journey had I almost forgotten her as I was carried along and buffeted by

the wind and the crowd of twisted things 138 that I had met along the way. There had been

times when I had despaired of ever seeing her again. Now here she was. Standing right in

front of her.

I hugged her again and tears of joy filled our eyes.

This is my sister! My lost sister I told you about! I cried. Dys, I can’t believe it. Are you really

The Empress? How did you get here? How did you become an empress?

I have no time to explain. I will tell you later, but for now I want you all to do what I tell you.

Don’t ask questions and don’t hesitate or dither. Do you understand? It is very, very important

that you do. Tell me that you do!

The urgency in her voice and the seriousness of her expression told us that what she was

going to ask was of the utmost importance.

Yes, just tell me what you want me to do. I said

Whatever Your Majesty commands said Mi.

I will do whatever you wish, said Mr Marz.

Very good. Now come here Mr Marz, Quickly! I need to speak to you. I know you started

everything that led to me becoming empress and I am sorry if I have disappointed you – don’t

say anything! – and I would have liked to talk to you, but there is no time. I want you to do

this for me.

Should anything happen to me I want you to run and get help immediately. Do you

understand? I’ll say it again. Should anything happen to me. Whatever it is. I want you to run

and get help immediately. Immediately!

Yes, but I am an old man. Would it not be better if…

I asked you not to ask questions. You said you would do whatever I wished, and this is what I

wish. Will you do it? I’ll say it one more time, I want you to run and get help immediately.

Immediately!

Yes, I will. I will run and get help if you need it.

Good.

But how will I know….

! 167

No questions!

You, what is your friend called?

Milan.

Milan, this is most important. Do you promise to do exactly what I ask when the time comes

and ask no questions too?

Yes I do Your Majesty.

Right. When the time comes. You will keep out of the way and over there by the window. Do

not try to interfere or help with anything that happens. Do not interfere! Just do as I tell you.

do you understand? Will you do that for me?

Yes Your Majesty?

You, will you promise the same? To do what I ask?

Yes, but….

No questions. No buts. Do you promise, please! Will you do exactly what I ask? You will do

what you have to do, no matter what it is? And please You, no questions. Just do it.

I promised.

Thank you. Thank you all. I’m so sorry we have so little time I would have liked to hear all

your stories. And to have talked to you properly Mr Marz. But I only have time to say thank

you!

And she hugged the old man, who stood there awkwardly as his eyes filled with tears.

I could see that we all wanted to ask questions. I wanted to explain and was suddenly aware of

the heavy black bag I still held in my hand. Now I had discovered that The Empress was Dys

my mission was over. All we I needed to do now was to find a way to return home. And if I

could not find a way then I would stay here by Dys’s side. None of us said anything, we

waited for Dys to speak but she just stood silently as though listening for a sign. Outside we

could hear the sound of gypsy violins, clapping hands, accordions, laughter and the bleating

of sheep. The herds we passed on the road must have arrived, I thought.

Then there was a cry from out side the door and the sound of scuffling and the muffled thud of

something hitting the floor.

Quick through here! Dys opened a door and hustled us through into her bedroom. Stay until I

call you and stay silent, don’t even whisper a word.’ She said slamming the door behind us.

We hear the door to the Royal Apartment open and footsteps crossing the floor.

James! What are you doing here? What is going on outside?

I have had to replace the guard and I’m afraid your Illya Muromets was reluctant to go.

What do you mean! What have you done to Illya?

Don’t worry he is alright. He has not been hurt…well only a little. You just have a new guard

now.

James, what is going on? You are my Pschopomp, and my friend. Why are you talking like

this?

First I have been told that you are meeting a Mr. Marz. Where is he?

You are too late. Mr Marz and his guests left about ten minutes ago. Now tell me what is

going on?

There was a pause then we heard James say,

Marz left here about ten minutes ago…. Yes, he is not here… I’m in The Empress’s

Chambers…. He could be on his way to the gate…. Check there now… Make an

announcement over the PA… Get him back here ….He could have been taken on a tour of the

palace so check everywhere… including the gardens.

Why are you looking for Mr Marz? Where is Atremesia? You usually have Artemesia with

you when you come to my rooms.

I have come to tell you that I am making a Proclamation very soon. You must know you have

made quite a mess of things - that’s quite an understatement – with your ridiculous and

! 168

impossible proclamations. Have you thought how many people you have put out of work by

destroying the armaments industry? Whole towns depended on some of those factories. You

will have heard of the chaos your edict on vegetarianism has caused. People are still not sure

if they can have a boiled egg for breakfast, or eat a fish finger. Can you even imagine how

much harm it has done? What were the farmers supposed to do? The Farmer’s Crusade you

caused has left a trail of devastation behind it. Luckily we have managed to sort out the mess,

but an enormous cost. Now you are going against all that is natural and trying to force people

to be equal. There is no such thing as equal! Everyone is different. Some people are taller,

some have different coloured skins, some are strong and some are clever. Some are lazy and

some are weak. The strong and clever are the ones who run this world. They deserve more.

Otherwise why would they bother? Why not just sit down and watch the world fall apart?

James, what has happened to fairness and goodness and kindness? Isn’t that all the sad world

needs? 139 I spoke for the voiceless. You let me make these proclamations you said they were

the right thing to do.

I gave you advice that you rejected and then I told you what you wanted to hear. But things

have gone too far. I believe in a real world where real decisions are made based on their

possible outcomes, not on vague ideas of ‘kindness’ or ‘fairness’.

So I am going to say that you are no longer going to make any public proclamations and that

you have handed authority to me. I am going to say that you have realized that you have made

mistakes. I am going to say that you realize that you are too young and too inexperienced for

the responsibility that you have been given. I am going to say that you are sorry that you have

ignored my advice in the past and am now giving me full power as your Psychopomp to take

decisions on your behalf.

I am going to say that you have decreed that Fiona Fell shall be my Princess Consort.

Dr. Fell! Even I know that Psychopomps do not have Princess Consorts. Everybody knows

that! I am not going to do any of what you say. If you do not stop all this at once I am going to

find myself another Psychopomp!

You can stamp your foot all you like it will make not the slightest difference. From now on

you will not leave these rooms without my permission. And when you do it will only to

endorse what I have just told you. And don’t try and climb out of the window or call for help

– not that anyone could hear you from up here – because if you do you will bring down a

great deal of trouble on both yourself and your friends. I hope you understand what I mean by

‘trouble’. Oh, and another thing. Ever since you were brought here we have been trying to

find out where you came from. After all you must have parents and family. You can’t have just

appeared from nowhere in a puff of smoke. But it was very strange, no matter how hard and

how long we searched we could find nothing. You must have been on a list of missing

children somewhere. We searched police records, orphanages, hospitals; we found thousands

of missing children but we could not find you. But just recently things have changed; it is as

though a mist is lifting and we are beginning to see clearly. We have stared to find the odd

reference, little clues, pieces of a jigsaw that when we piece them together will tell us who

you really are and where your parents are. So if you want to see your parents again – and I

assume you are a normal child and do – then you will do precisely what I tell you to.

I will not! I want to talk to Artemesia!

Like you Artemesia will not be leaving her rooms. You can see Dr Fell. She is worried about

your health. She thinks the strain of being Empress may have been too much for you.

I do not like Dr Fell! I hate her! She’s a sneaky, two faced liar! And her nose is too long! She

looks like a goat!

! 169

Since you have nothing to say but childish abuse I shall go now. I have to prepare for my

Proclamation. There are now two guards outside the door and they have orders not to let you

leave. Oh and if any of your friends should try to get you out the guards are armed.

What! All armaments were destroyed. No weapons of any kind are allowed in the Palace. You

know that.

Well it seems one or two got missed. And the rules have changed. Goodbye.

I realized why Dys had been anxious and disturbed. She was being made a prisoner in her

own palace! But I had the gun. No one knew I had a gun and we could use it to threaten the

guard and escape. The gun would get us out. I was sure now what I had to do. We would flee

the palace and find our way home. The man in the next room had said he was about to find out

where our parents were. We could find our way back too. We could follow the path I had

taken to get here.

We heard the door close and a few moments later Dys said,

It’s safe to come out now. Hurry! We have very little time left. Mr Marz go and stand by the

door. Milan go over there. You you know what you have to do.

No. I don’t. What do you want me to do?

Do what you came here to do! Do what you were told to do! Your bag.

My hand was shaking but I took the gun out of the bag. I started towards the door.

No! You! Do what you were told to do. Do it now!

You mean…

Yes! Yes! Shoot!

I can’t… I can’t. I won’t.

You can! You promised! You promised. Do it!.

No I can’t.

You promised. Please, for me. Do it for me please. You promised. DO IT!

She screamed again, PLEASE DO IT!

No, no… but the gun had a power of its own. It forced my hand upwards, and though I tried

with all my strength I could no stop it.

And I pointed and fired.

There was an enormous deafening explosion.

Dys staggered backwards and fell to the floor.

Caves of Ice

! 170

I dropped the gun from my hand and stared at Dys lying still and pale against the blue carpet

that covered the floor. On her chest a dark patch of blood.

The echo of the explosion had barely finished echoing around the room and the white

sulphurous smoke settled when the door was flung open and the two guards rushed in. One of

them was holding a shotgun. They had not got across the threshold when there was a spark of

red and the girl in black with vermillion hair leaped onto the guard with the gun pulling him

back into the hallway. Other Children in Black followed and dragged the guards to the floor

covered in a mass of punching pummeling black forms. Mr Marz ran through the open door to

fetch help. Just as he had been instructed. As soon as Mr Marz had left the room Dys

scrambled to her feet.

Follow me!

Milan and I raced out of the open door after Dys, past the guards invisible beneath the writing

mass of their attackers and down a long empty corridor, round a corner and down a staircase.

Alarm bells started to ring and we could hear shouts and running feet but saw no one.

This way!

Dys led us through a maze of narrow corridors until we came to another flight of stone stairs.

Down here!

We ran down the steps our feet echoing on the stone. I heard a shout and the sound of other

footsteps racing down from above. At the bottom of the stairs we ran past a huge gaping crack

in the wall and over to where a massive metal door stood open to let us through.

As soon as we entered the Caves of Ice and the door swung closed behind us we were hit by a

blast of cold air and we stood shivering. We had stepped into a vast limestone cavern lit by

powerful spotlights, white sheets of calcite flowstone glittered on the walls like ice; a stream

flowed through the cavern and disappeared underground filling the cave with the constant

thunder of falling water. There were two low prefabricated buildings linked by a covered

walkway built on the floor of the cavern and from the larger of these two figures were walking

towards us. A man and a woman. The man I instantly recognised as Mr Mangabey by his

gingerish crest of hair and white side whiskers, the woman I didn’t know.

A loud clanging sound behind told us that they were trying to break down the metal door.

Come inside! shouted Mr. Mangabey, It’s quieter.

We entered the nearest hut that seemed to be some kind of office and computer room. There

were four large polished grey metal boxes the size of a wardrobe, a large desk with several

computers, a table and some comfortable chairs. Each of the wall was covered by a large

screen.

This is TRUDI, said Mr Mangabey waving an arm at the metal boxes, Tiny isn’t she? But you

have to remember that this is just a tiny part of her. Just an eyelash, you might say. The rest is

out there.

He waved his hand in the air vaguely indicating ‘out there’.

Now, I know who you all are and except for Milan you all know I am Mr. Mangabey, though

you may not ave known I was the Custodian of TRUDI, the most powerful computer system

in the world. I say system because the word computer would be misleading. Even computer

system does not accurately describe what she is. Never mind shall I make tea? Oh, some of

have not met Artemesia. Artemesia was the right hand of The Pschopomp. Not any more.

Now she is helping me. Artemesia this is Milan and this is You. You is The Empress’s brother.

I have already told you about him. Now tea. Dys did you bring me any tea? I seem to

remember you went out to make a pot of tea. No? Well I will have to make it for myself. Who

has milk? Who has sugar? Milk? I like the questions – sugar? – milk? Jasmine, Gunpowder,

Assam, Earl Grey, Ceylon? I love tea’s names. Which tea would you like?

140

Sadly, you have no

choice, we only have the one jar. Then for the first time in her life Dys said, Where’s the pot? I’ll

make it.

! 171

The clanging and banging of those outside trying to break through the metal door got so loud

that it made conversation difficult even inside the office.

Will they be able break the door? Artemesia was clearly worried by the thought.

Eventually, said Mr Mangabey, but things are a little different down here and we can slow the

process. TRUDI, slow things down outside this cavern.

Blue lights flashed and moved across the grey metal and the banging on the door got slower

and slower until it became a slow Boom! Boom! Boom! Like the beating of a gigantic metal

heart or the slow tolling of a cathedral bell.

There we have all the time we need. I suppose you would like some explanations.

Yes!

Tea first. Artemesia will you be Mother?

What?

An old English expression meaning, ‘Will you pour the tea.’ The tea, by the way, is an Assam

from the Baksa district of India. I always find Assam goes well with milk. They told me that

this blend is ‘delightfully velvety, sweet, topped with mellow notes of peach and berries.’. But

it tastes more of tea to me. Very good tea. And I’m glad about that because I don’t really like

berries in my tea.

Boom!

The gun, I said, I fired the gun!

Yes, in the end you did exactly as you had been asked. Well done!

Red ink, said Dys pointing at the stain on her search.

But the Duke wasn’t that real? Didn’t I shoot the Duke?

Yes, that bullet was live. There were two bullets in the gun, the first live the second blank. But

be very careful how you use that word ‘real’. That word is a sackful of weasels. You I

explained this to you at great length using the example of mulberry pie and… Mulberry Pie! I

forgot I have mulberry pie in the fridge. And some figs. Ripe figs. They go so well together.

Dys get some plates and spoons out of that cupboard.

Boom!

Mr Mangabey jumped up, went over to a refrigerator in the corner of the room, returned with

a beautiful pie with a glazed honey coloured pastry top pie with a rubescent halo of claret

coloured juice around the rim and bowl of dark purple figs and set them down on the table.

Before I cut the have a question. Two questions.

Open top, closed top or lattice, which to you prefer? Please raise your hands. Lattice? Open

top? Closed top?

All our hands went up, although Atremesia raised hers a little wearily.

Mr Mangabey cut the pie.

As I thought. You prefer a closed top pie. Ninety nine per cent of people prefer a closed top

pie. An open top pie is really a tart. The there is the not so well known galette. Not so suitable

for berries I think. But the apricot galette! Second only to mulberry pie. Cream anyone?

Now figs. I hope you all know the proper way to eat a fig, in society, is to split it in four,

holding it by the stump, then throw away the skin. But the vulgar way is just to put your

mouth to the crack, and take out the flesh in one bite. 141 Like this. Figs are related to

mulberries which is why they go so well together.

Boom!

Where was I? Reality. Everything right now seems very ‘real’ doesn’t it? But memories, we

get them wrong all the time, don’t we. So how real are they? And everything that seems so

real instantly becomes a memory. One day you will wake up and find yourself old and think,

How did this happen to me so quickly? You try to remember yourself as you were when you

! 172

were young, but it’s not easy. You have to not just remember yourself when you were when

you were young but also imagine yourself when you were young. And imagination is a

gigantic weasel. The biggest of all weasels. As big as a quickhatch, carcajou or wolverine.

Things, stuff, the present moment, memory, imagination and time all interlinked in an

unimaginably complex way

Boom!

Now, continued Mr Mangabey, things are a little different. We have complex machines,

computer networks linked together too and TRUDI, Truly Deep Intelligence linked, to them in

was that is now too complicated for a human mind to understand. We would all like to make

the world a better place. In our different ways. Wouldn’t we?

We all nodded

Artemesia?

She nodded too.

Computers have for a long time run stock and commodity markets, communications

networks, much of our health services, the space programme and so on. Why not ask them to

make us good? There is a slight problem. Let me illustrate it. TRUDI.

The screens flicked to life.

I want to be a good person. Can you make me good?

Yes.

Please tell me how you would do it.

I would remove a small portion of your brain.

Thank you TRUDI but I would prefer to remain as I am, flawed.

The screens dimmed.

So you see we cannot change through machines alone, it must be in combination with our new

machines. So I have run a little experiment. That is all. Now you understand.

No!

What about my wound, it has not fully healed. Was that real? Will I be left with the scar all

my life? What about Indigo? What about the Children in Black?

There you go again with that word ‘real’. I wish you wouldn’t. Do I really have to spell things

out? I hate it at the end of stories when everything is painfully explained. Why not say, I woke

up and it was all a dream? There you are it’s all a dream.

Really? Asked Mi.

No of course not. Sighed Mr Mangabey.

Boom!

Would somebody mind stepping outside and checking the condition of that door.

Milan went out and came back saying, It is fine except for a few small bumps.

Ah, said Mr Mangabey, Isn’t that what everyone wants their lives to be? A long straight road

with just a few small bumps? Instead it is always a narrow twisting road with lots of sharp

corners, pot-holes, fallen trees and hidden dips. Talking of dips, what is your favourite? Mine

is one I have just invented, a mixture of guacamole and humus with a squeeze of lemon juice

and a dash of live yoghurt.

Crisps or nachos? yawned Artemesia wearily.

Nachos, of course! Crisps with guacamole are hardly as good. Now stop interrupting and let

me answer You’s questions. First your wound. A long time ago I was bitten by a small

monkey…

As soon as Mr Mangabey said the word monkey I realized how much he reminded me of an

enormous monkey.

… The bit left a scar that has now vanished and I can’t remember if it was actually a monkey

or a small dog that bit me. Or if I was bitten at all. The answer is that I don’t know. You must

! 173

have a look in a year or two. Or in an hour or two. Your next question, Indigo. I borrowed

Indigo from Mr Schroninger. She was a Schrodinger’s Cat…ape! Ha ha ha!

Mr Magabey sputtered into his tea and roared with laughter. We all just stared blankly at him.

Schrodinger’s Catape! Well I thought it was funny. Indigo was a creature of the imagination

neither real nor not-real until you decide which. It is up to you to chose. Third question, The

Children in Black and Katie Katz. They are rather like Indigo but different in some important

ways. They are definitely not ‘real’ in any ‘real’ sense of the world. Not human. They will not

change or age. They will always be there somewhere running like an endless

s loop of film. I am not quite sure where they came from. I think they were created by TRUDI

as some kind of balance. A balance of order and disorder perhaps. Something to counter the

success of The Empress. That is what I have come to think.

But I have not been a success, said Dys sadly, I have completely failed as The Empress.

Not at all! Cried Mr Mangabey. It has been a huge success! You haven’t been paying

attention. I’ll explain it again to later.

Boom!

What about me? Am I ‘real’? Asked Artemesia, her voice was steady but the cup rattled in her

hand.

Oh, yes! Like everyone else in this room. I needed you. Needed someone desperate to escape.

Escape by any means. Not be a scapegoat. People like you are important to make things

happen. You helped me make this happen. I have found you another job. Drowning kittens in

the The Mangbey Home for Stray Cats! Haha! No not really. But you could be my assistant.

What time is it? It must be time to see what is happening outside. TRUDI please show us

what James is doing now.

All the screens in the room lit up. We saw James, wearing the robes of the Psychomp, step out

onto the balcony followed by Fiona Fell. Fiona was wearing a long golden dress and diamond

tiara. James addressed the crowds gathered below.

I wish... I wish I could be anywhere in the world other than standing on this balcony and

having to say what I…I have to say this afternoon. I wish it from the depths of my heard, from

the depths of my very being, from my soul itself… and yet I have to. It is my duty… to you

and to myself.

He spoke slowly in a voice choked with emotion. He looked close to tears and only holding

them back by strength of will.

Oh, he’s so good at this stuff! Said Artemesia. Pity it is such a lousy script. I could have

written something far better…

Then realizing she was standing next to The Empress

… Sorry.

beloved child empress, was shot and is presumed dead…

We could hear the intake of breath from the vast crowd followed by shouts and the wailing

moans sound of grief. Then the crowd fell silent again to hear James next words.

Watch now! Said Mr Mangabey. TRUDI the screens.

A change happened on the screens that had been placed among the crowd and showed the

enlarged images of James standing on the balcony. The Image of James divided and the screen

was split. There was still James the Psychopomp giving the news of The Empress’s

assassination but alongside it was another James. James McQuarry in informal clothes

talking to Artemesia in his private appartments.

! 174

But you want a position that gives you their power. That is why you will be appointed

Psychopomp. Then you will advise her to appoint ministers. You will suggest some of the most

inept and corrupt people you can find

The Empress was shot at close range by one of three guests she had invited into her private

apartments for an audience. Despite the order to destroy all armaments it seems that some

cowardly and evil people had hidden some away from our inspectors. The Empress was shot

with a handgun, A pistol. How the pistol was smuggled through our security system we do not

know. But we do know the assassin was not working alone.

Because you want things to go sour. You want people to fall out of love with their fairy tale

child Empress. So you put forward the names, but at the same time you let people know – very

discreetly- that these were the personal appointments of the Empress and not your choice.

That she ignored your advice and overruled you. You have done something similar before. You

can do it again. You also encourage her stupidity. Let her indulge her whims and fancies, like

this party that is going on outside. All those people should be back working in factories and

farms.

After the shooting the two guards who had been outside the door to the Royal Apartments

rushed in to see the body of The Empress and the assassin standing with a smoking gun in his

hand. But before the guards could act they were seized from behind by other members of the

gang and dragged from the room.

The stock market may crash, millions will be out of a job, it will be utter chaos.

Yes, and that is exactly what we want

The crowd began to murmur with anger and disbelief.

I thought our rooms were secure! I had them checked. How can I have been so stupid? Said

Artemesia.

I ordered TRUDI not to monitor James’s private room said Dys.

Sorry! Said Mr Mangabey, I overruled that and TRUDI lied. And the system reinstalled after

it had been disabled. Actually it had never been disabled. Just one part. Our system is not that

easy to trace. Everything said in any room in the palace was recorded.

Boom! The beating at the door continued.

Milan will you check again for me, please?

Milan stepped outside and walked towards that shuddered with each blow but still held. Then

he noticed cracks had appeared in the stone around the frame. As he walked back he was

thinking about Artemesia. There was something about her that he could not place. He felt he

had met her before, but that was not possible. Perhaps the feeling arose just because he had

glimpsed pictures in magazines and television.

Milan reported that the door was beginning to come away from the wall.

We have a few minutes longer, said Mr Mangabey, Let’s watch a little more.

James continued still unaware that his private conversations were being broadcast alongside

his announcement and unaware of the disturbance in the crowd.

All entrances and exits to the palace are now closed. No one will leave until they have been

interviewed by Security. We shall not cease in our efforts, day and night, to find the assassins.

One of the witnesses, Mr Inknavar Marz, is helping us with our enquiries. We believe he is

not directly involved in the assassination but has valuable information to give us. There is one

detail, one sad detail I have not yet told you. The Empress’s body has vanished! Stolen by the

gang of assassins who left a note saying, ‘The Empress is dead. We are taking her back to

where she came from.’ We do not fully understand what this means.

In the absence of The Empress I will be taking full control and to honour and respect one of

The Empress’s last wishes I am making Dr Fiona Fell my Princess Consort. I am sure you will

come to love her as much as I do and as much as we all loved our Empress.

! 175

So I am going to say that you are no longer going to make any public proclamations and that

you have handed authority to me. I am going to say that you have realized that you have made

mistakes. I am going to say that you realize that you are too young and too inexperienced for

the responsibility that you have been given. I am going to say that you are sorry that you have

ignored my advice in the past and am now giving me full power as your Psychopomp to take

decisions on your behalf.

I am going to say that you have decreed that Fiona Fell shall be my Princess Consort.

There was a huge roar of anger from the crowd and they surged forwards overpowered the

guards and flowed forwards through the gardens towards the steps leading to the main door of

the palace.

At first James looked bewildered, as if he though the action of the crowd might be one of

appreciation, that his popularity was such that the people were celebrating his rise to power

despite the death of their Empress. But then it became clear in the purposeful way the crowd

moved forward and the anger in their voices that they were coming to invade the palace. They

were coming for him and Fiona.

He grabbed Fiona’s hand and fled from the balcony.

The screens now showed only the angry faces of the crowd thrusting their way through the

gardens towards the palace. We heard shots and hoped it was the guards shooting warning

shots over the heads of the advancing crowd. We saw small black figures pushing their way to

the front to lead the attack. One threw something shattering the glass of a window and then

there was an explosion, smoke poured out of the shattered window and the screens went

blank.

Boom!

Whoops! Said Mr Mangabey. I won’t ask TRUDI to go over to our auxiliary system. Let’s just

finish our tea. I see there is one more slice of mulberry pie. You you must have have it. I

insist. Then you must go. The place is about to fall. All the best stories end with the castle

being destroyed. This one is no different. And there is always a secret passage to escape by.

There is a secret passage that you can take. Artemesia you must stay here with me, I need your

help. No need to hurry the pie You. Does anyone have any more questions?

Boom!

I must say goodbye now. Thank you You. Thank Dys. You carried out your roles to perfection.

You have both been… extraordinary. Milan it was a pleasure to meet you. For now I must

remain here with Artemesia.

Will you be alright? Will you be safe?

There was another Boom! followed by a crash

Quite save, thank you. The door is coming down. I’m sorry now there is no more time for

questions. The three of you must go now. This way.

I wiped the crimson stain of mulberries from my lips and followed Mr Mangabey as he led us

out of the hut and towards the chasm where the stream hurtled down into blackness.

How do we get out of here? Asked Dys.

There is only one way, Through the unknown, remembered gate. Listen to the voice of the

hidden waterfall. What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make

a beginning. The end is where we start from 142. You have to jump.

What jump down there! We’ll be killed! I cried.

The others stared at Mr Mangabey in disbelief.

No you won’t. I have no time to explain. You have to believe me.

I can’t.

! 176

You are quite right to have doubts, shouted Mr Mangabey over the deafening roar of the

water, Always, have some portion of doubt, but there are times when you have to trust

someone, when you have to believe them despite all your doubt and not just stand around

getting drenched in spray. This is one of the few times that you must put doubt aside. Do you

believe me when I say none of you will come to harm.

And without replying Dys jumped and vanished into blackness through the swirling mist of

spray. Almost immediately she was followed by Milan. Behind me I heard Artemisia cry out

‘Milan! Milan! But he was gone while I remained trembling on the brink.

The door is down, jump! Cried Mr Mangabey. They are coming for you. Jump!

I can’t. I can’t do it.

Mr Mangabey fumbled in his pockets -behind him I could see men pouring through the

broken door – and took out a ball of string. Here it is. I almost forgot. Take this

But what for?

For tying up any lose ends, of course. Now Go!

I can’t!

You can. Mr Mangabey took me by the shoulders and stared into my eyes. You can.

Then it seemed everything fell silent, the roar of the water and the cries of the men running

towards us. My nose was filled with the scents of summer, new mown hay and cut grass,

meadowsweet and the delicate fragrance of willow herb and I heard the sound the sound of a

blackbird singing somewhere below me and then one by one countless other birds joined his

song. 143 I took a step forward felt myself slipping on the smooth rock and flung myself into

the spray and was momentarily deafened by the roar of the falling water again then everything

fell quiet.

At first I seemed to be falling through a clear swirling tube of water then I hit blackness, as I

was swept into a sunless sea. Down down I sank into darkness and from the darkness all

around me as I fell came visions, pictures, some I knew, some vaguely familiar and some I did

not recognise. A boy and a girl with a dead lop-eared rabbit 144, a very peculiar person who

seemed to be half a policeman and half a bicycle 145, two girls in red knitted caps 146, a ragged

boy stealing a handkerchief from a man in a green coat 147, a man wearing a hat with feathers,

a red waistcoat, and a blue coat with silver buttons and carrying two silver mounted pistols 148,

an ape, a demon, a pig and monk walking along arm in arm 149, an old sailor clutching the arm

of a guest at a wedding reception 150, an otter surrounded by baying hounds 151, a huge black cat

standing upright and carrying a pistol and bottle of vodka 152, a group of men with their heads

tilted to one side and dressed in coats covered with embroidered suns, moons, and stars and

flutes, harps, trumpets, guitars, and other instruments 153, a spider fighting with a cockroach. 154

Several bears, rabbits, rats mice and toads 155 . All things these and many more I suddenly

popped up in the moat surrounding the Palace of the Golden Moon, where Milan and Dys

seized my arms and hauled me up on to the bank.

When I had struggled to my feet and wiped the water from my eyes I saw we were surrounded

by Children in Black on their sturdy little black horses. One of the riders stood holding three

horses with empty saddles. The girl with red vermillion hair, Katie Katz ordered.

Take a horse!

But I can’t ride.

She glanced down at me with a look utter contempt.

Just climb on and say ‘Gee up!’ And don’t forget to hold on tight.

We climbed on to our horses.

! 177

Let’s go! Cried Katie, Let’s ride! Ride like the west wind! Ride to the wild heath! Ride to the

mountains! Ride like a roll of thunder! Ride like lightning!

And we were off. I found I was riding as if I had ridden all my life. We thundered across the

grassy meadow, over fields through vineyards, throwing up clouds of dust and dirt behind us,

we leapt walls and ditches. We whirled across the waste like driven ghosts. 156

Whooping and yelling with delight. We stopped for a moment on top of a hill to look back

across the plain towards the palace. Tongues of flame were licking out from the lower

windows of The Palace of the Golden Moon and as we watched a slender minaret slowly

toppled over and fell to earth.

Katie Katz wheeled her horse around and cried again Let’s ride!

And we were off. Faster and faster.

The whipping wind stung my face and got stronger and stronger as we rode faster and faster.

Faster than any horse could go. Faster than the wind. Faster than a rocket. Faster than light

itself. I could no longer see even a blur of the countryside around me. I was riding through a

grey tunnel of mist going faster and faster. My face stung so much I had to close eyes and grit

my teeth, but still my horse with coal red eyes and cataracting mane went faster and faster. 157

And then I felt the strangest sensation. My skin began to peel away from my face. But it was

not just my skin. It was me! I went even faster and peeled away from myself and and blew

away like a leaf in the wind. While another me rode on with Katie Katz, Milan and Dys to the

wild heath and the mountains.

We’d better clean up this mess, said Dys as we looked at the burnt carpet, broken glass and

books strewn across the floor. But before we could even start I heard our parents’ car draw up

outside, doors slam as they got out and then the sound of their key turning in the lock.

The End

The end! The end! But what happened to Milan! What happened to Mr Mangabey? What

Happened to Artemesia? Was she Milan’s lost sister? Did they meet again? What was it all

that Empress stuff about? What was the story all about?

Calm down! That was the end. Dys and I found ourselves back home. Though we both know

that part of us still rides across the wild heathlands with Katie Katz and her band and Milan.

What happened to the others I don’t know. And it is not a story it is the truth. And I can prove

it is true.

Think back. Can you remember a story you might have heard. A story about an Empress, a

Queen or a Princess who made a world where there was no war, no suffering, everyone was

happy? Now everyone remembers a story like that and thinks. Maybe, just maybe it is more

than just a story. Maybe it is possible. And – just a minute- I’ll go and get you proof this is

not just a story

I left the room and went to my study, unlocked a draw in my desk and took out a ball of

string.

! 178

Langston Hughes

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.

! 179

1 Stella Gibbons.Cold Comfort Farm cows

2

3

4

5

6

Lewis Carroll. Alice in Wonderland, The King

Novels by Rosie M Banks in the P G Wodehouse books

Not to be confused with Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen

T S Eliot. The Wasteland. This is what the thunder says.

Song by Josh White based on the poem One Fish Ball by George Martin Lane

7 The character Indigo Casson appears in the books by Hilary Mc Kay and characters called

Indigo and Magenta appear in several comic books. It seems the name Sepia is yet to be

taken.

8

9

Paddington Bear’s home.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets?

10 The Road Less Travelled is a best selling book by M Scott Peck but the phrase usually

refers to the lines from Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken, ‘ I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference.’

11

12

13

The last words of Julian of Norwich

Melancholy and irritable.

Beneath the Earth

! 180

14 Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions by A Square is a satirical novella by the English

schoolmaster Edwin Abbott Abbott,

15 Robert Frost. The Road Not Taken. ‘I looked down one as far as I could To where it bent

in the undergrowth.’

16

17

Sylvia Plath. Daddy

Now a part of the unrecognised Republic of Artsakh, an Armenian enclave in Azerbaijan.

18 While there are several Ahamad Shannon’s none of them are architects or Malaysian. There

is however Shahnon Ahmad the Malaysian author of the great Malay novel No Harvest but a

Thorn.

19

20

21

Siegfried Sassoon. Dream-Forest.

Kipling. The Way through the Woods

Kipling. The Way through the Wood

22 This could be The Wendigo as described in the Algernon Blackwood story of the same

name.

23

24

25

Yeats. The Stolen Child

This is the inn from Hilaire Belloc’s Tarantella.

In this the palace resembles Xanadu in Coleridge’s Kubla Khan

26 French children’s song author unknown. A based on ça trompe "it deceives" and sa

trompe "its trunk".

27

This is the Scholar-Gypsy from Matthew Arnold’s poem The Scholar-Gypsy.

28 Nils Holgersson is from The Wonderful Adventures of Nils by Selma Lagerlof

Bawang Putih and Bawang Merah (White Garlic and Red Onion) are the Indonesian version

of Snow White and Rose Red.

Paul B Onion is Paul Bunyan the giant lumberjack of American folklore.

Illya Muromets is a Russian folk hero. A bogatyr or knight errant.

Kathy Saritsagara is a collection of stories the Kathāsaritsāgara ("Ocean of the Streams of

Stories") is a famous 11th-century collection of Indian legends, fairy tales and folk tales.

29 The White Mule is the first novel in the Wiliam Carlos Williams trilogy about an immigrant

family in the USA and also occurs in Robert Browning’s poem My Last Duchess.

30 Claus Ferrara. More references to My Last Duchess the poem is in the voice of the Duke of

Ferrara, Alfonso II d’Este. The poem also mentions the sculptor Claus of Innsbruck,

31 More references to My Last Duchess. The name Fran Polda is a near anagram of Fra

Pandof the painter of the Duchess’ portrait.

! 181

32 Absolute power corrupts absolutely. It was lord Acton though many people wrongly

attribute it to George Orwell.

33 W H Auden. A Walk After Dark ‘Somebody chose their pain,

What needn't have happened did.’

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

Fitzgerald. The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

This is W B Yeats Lake Isle of Innisfree

Fitzgerald. The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

W B Yeats The Wind Among the Reeds

W B Yeats Cloths of Heaven

W B Yeats The Song of the Wandering Aengus

W B Yeats The Wild Swans at Coole

41

Because No Man is an Island. John Donne.

42

43

44

45

46

Could it have been a rockinghorse fly from chapter 3 of Alice Through the Looking Glass?

Wilfred Wilson Gibson Flannan Isle

Robert Southey. The Cataract of Lodore.

Wordworth. Lucy ‘A violet by a mossy stone.’

Milan Mirini is a reference to Alda Merini the Milanese poet.

47 Anon

48 Anon

49 Anon

50 Shakespeare. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Often misquoted as ‘ a bank where the wild

thyme grows.’

51

The War Song of Dinas Vawr by Thomas Love Peacock

52 A Psychopomp is usually a kind of spirit or angel that escorts the dead to the afterlife.

Examples include Charon, Anubis and Hermes.

53 The Empress has got this quote from the internet where it is attributed to Joan of Arc. The

correct one is. “I do not fear the soldiers, for my road is made open to me; and if the soldiers come, I

have God, my Lord, who will know how to clear the route that leads to messire the Dauphin. It was

for this that I was born!" Though perhaps she just prefers the simpler phrase without any mention of

God.

54

Shakespeare, The Tempest and title of novel by Aldous Huxley.

! 182

55 ‘I do not like thee Dr Fell…’ an epigram said to be written by Tom Brown in 1680 about

the Dean of Christchurch, Oxford.

56

57

58

Tikus is Indonesian for mouse.

U pronounce Oo, is actually a prefix or honorific like Mr or Uncle.

Kambing is Indonesian for goat.

59 Bill the Lizard falls off a ladder in Alice in Wonderland. Dodgson was Lewis Carroll’s real

name.

60 There are two references to William Carlos Williams in this chapter. W C Williams wrote a

poem titled By the Road to the Contagious Hospital and was himself a paediatrician.

61

Pintar is Indonesian for ‘clever’.

62 Unadorned Facts is a magazine from Terry Pratchett’s Disc World books. Playbeing is from

Douglas Adams’s Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and Cozy Moments is from P G

Wodehouse’s Psmith, Journalist.

63 Dr Fell is sarcastically referring either to the Bible Genesis 37 ‘Is there no balm in Gilead.’

or Edgar Alan Poe’s poem The Raven ‘..; is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I

implore!’

64 Another W C Willams reference. This time to the poem The Red Wheelbarrow and the

words ‘so much depends on a red wheelbarrow.’

65 The tau number for the circumference of a circle and rival to pi. The interesting numbers in

the story are all red herrings.

66

Pi itself.

67

6174 is known as Kaprekar's constant after the Indian mathematician D R Kapregar.

68

69

70

1729 is known as the Hardy–Ramanujan number,

This is the real clue in the story. The letters in bold spell out the hiding place.

One of the best fast bowlers of all time.

71 Willam Carlos Williams. This is Just to Say. ' I have eaten the plums that were in the

icebox.’

72

The only hat to be called after a book. George du Maurier’s novel Trilby.

73 Agnolo di Cosimo (called Bronzino) was the leading painter of mid-16th-century Florence.

74

75

W Holman Hunt’s painting The Scape Goat. ‘Asphalte scum’ are Holman Hunts words.

G K Chesterton The Rolling English Road.

! 183

76 G K Chesterton wore pince-nez and wide brimmed hat as well as using exaggerated

expressions. The crime novelist John Dickson Carr based his flamboyant character Dr Fell on

Chesterton.

77

78

79

G K Chesterton The Rolling English Road.ad.

Traditional English nonsense rhyme. Anon.

This is the title of the well known J B Priestly play.

80 Sitting on Top of the World is a country blues song written by the Mississipi Sheiks in 1930

that went on to become a mainstream standard.

81 Anon. The yablochko, and the tropak are Russian folk dances.

82

83

84

85

From Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll included in Alice Through the Looking-Glass

Details from Robert Louis Stevenson’s From a Railway Carriage.

Longfellow. The Village Blacksmith.

Edward Lear, limerick There was an Old Man in a Tree.

86 The names Laura and Lizzie and the references to fruits and markets suggest they may be

the girls from the poem Goblin Market. Ellen Alleyn was the pseudonym of Christina

Rossetti.

87

88

The Annunciation by D G Rossetti.

Children’s poem by Christina Rossetti.

89 Algernon Charles Swinburne poet

90

91

92

93

94

95

96

97

98

99

Edward Bourne-Jones painter

Dante Gabriel Rossetti painter and poet

Swinburne Felise

Swinburne Garden of Proserpine

Swinburne A Word for the Country

Christina Rossetti Sweet Death

Christina Rossetti Mirage

The hymn Salve Regina.

Christina Rossetti Seldom Can’t

Christina Rossetti Goblin Market

! 184

100 Canadian landscape painters 1920-1933

101

102

103

104

Jamie Wyeth’s painting plays on the title of the Henry James novel Portrait of a Lady

Ralph Hodgson Stupidity Street

Oscar Wilde Ballad of Reading Goal

Oscar Wilde Ballad of Reading Goal

105 John Betjeman in The Arrest of Oscar Wilde at the Cadogan Hotel has Wilde ordering

hock and seltzer.

106

107

108

The inn is from Alfred Noyes The Highwayman

Robert Graves I’d Love to be a fairy’s child

Shirley Jackson, The Lottery

109

Anon

110

111

Walter de la Mare The Mocking Fairy.

Thomas Hood The Bridge of Sighs

112

A mythical creature that lives in the forests of North America

113

Old Indonesian children’s song

The first two lines Gelang sipaku gelang Gelang si rama rama. Make no sense in Indonesian

but may possibly mean something like ‘Wear a bracelet, bracelet. Bracelet of butterflies.’

Gelang means bracelet and rama rama butterfly. Sipaku makes little sense. Paku could be

‘nail’ or come from ‘pakai’ to wear. Wearing a bracelet makes more sense.

The rest translates as:

Let's go home

Come, let's go home

Come, let's go home

Together.

Let's go home

Come, let's go home

Come, let's go home

Together.

114 The two women Mary and Elizabeth are from the poems Sands of Dee by Charles

Kingsley and High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire by Jean Ingelow.

115

Babe the Blue Ox was the companion of Paul Bunyan.

116 Kathy’s story is from the Kathāsaritsāgara. The Sea of Stories also occurs in Salman

Rushdie’s Haroun and the Sea of Stories.

! 185

117

Upanishads: Fourth Brahmana (Max Muller translation)

118

119

Dickens Hard Times

J P Martin Uncle (the three Respectable Horses)

120

Dylan Thomas. This is the reverend Eli Jenkin’ morning poem from Under Milk Wood.

You and Milan are entering Llaregub. Gull Barge is obviously an anagram of Llaregub.

121

122

123

124

125

John Masefield Cargoes

John Masefield Sea Fever

Tennyson Crossing the Bar

William Mcgonegal A Tale of the Sea

Coleridge The Ancient Mariner.

126 A E Houseman A Shropshire Lad

127

128

129

130

Said by T S Eliot.

Mathew Arnold Dover Beach

Dylan Thomas Fernhill

Emily Dickinson Dawn

131 Anon

132

133

134

Song by Johnny Mercer.

Walter de la Mare Three Jolly Farmers.

Lewis Carroll. Alice Through the Looking-Glass

135 Anon. American children’s song.

136

137

138

139

140

141

142

143

Edith Sitwell. Facade

Shakespeare Romeo and Juliet

T S Eliot Rhapsody on a Windy Night

Ella Wheeler Wilcox The Voice of the Voiceless

Carol Ann Duffy Tea

D H Lawrence Figs

T S Eliot Four Quartets (Little Gidding)

Edward Thomas Adelstrop

! 186

144 George Eliot Mill on the Floss. You has fallen into the Sea of Stories that lies beneath The

Palace of the Golden Moon.

145

Flann O’Brien The Third Policeman

146 Arthur Ransome Swallows and Amazons

147

148

Dickens Oliver Twist

Stevenson Kidnapped (Alan Breck)

149 The characters from The Journey to the West by Wu Cheng ‘En abridged by Arthur Waley

and simply called Monkey: a folk tale of China

150

151

152

153

Coleridge Ancient Mariner.

Henry Williamson Tarka the Otter

Mikhail Bulgakov The Master and Margarita

Jonathan Swift Gulliver’s Travels (The Laputans)

154 An Anansi story. Why Cockroach and Anansi are Enemies.

155 There are lots of stories, many too well known to mention, about bears, rabbits, rats and

mice, but as far as I know Kenneth Grahame’s Wind in the Willows is the only one with a toad

as its hero.

156

157

Roy Campbell Horses on the Camargue,

Roy Campbell Horses on the Camargue.

! 187

TEST DRAFT 3 With LLaregub footnotes The Boy Who Shot Flimzy Bubbletrumpett- macbook 2

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