Second day: opening of the grownups’ parliament. Third day: opening of the children’s parliament. Fourth day: opening of the zoo. Fifth day: a parade of the children who were going off to the country to spend a whole summer in the camps Matt had built for them.
Sixth day: a grand farewell ball for the foreign kings. Seventh day: departure of all guests.
Matt decided that the fourth day should also include the unveiling of a monument to the valiant pilot who had lost his life, and some special entertainment for the African kings.
Delegates from both parliaments would be present at all the festivities. Prime Minister Felek would sit at Matt’s left, and the other Prime Minister at his right. This would show that the grownups’ and the children’s ministers were entirely equal in the king’s sight. Felek, too, would be called Mr. Prime Minister.
When everything was agreed upon, Matt signed the invitations to all the foreign kings—to the European kings on white paper, to the Oriental kings on yellow paper, and to the African kings on black paper. The invitations on white paper were written in black ink, those on yellow paper in red ink, and those on black paper in gold ink. Bum Drum was to pass on the invitations to the other African kings, while the invitations to the Oriental kings were to be sent on through the European king who was their friend. But he was going to keep the invitations and not send them on—then the Oriental kings would feel insulted and stay friends with him.
The master of ceremonies carried in the box which contained the royal seal. One after the other, the invitations were inserted into their envelopes and the Secretary of State’s assistant sealed them with red or green wax.
Matt watched carefully. He had always thought the ceremony of sealing foolish and unnecessary, and was annoyed by how long it took. Only now did he understand its true importance.
All the letters were sealed except the final three.
Bored by the ceremony, the ministers lit cigars and started chatting, even though the regulations prohibited talking while the royal seal was being affixed to letters. They had no idea what was going to happen. Matt, the Prime Minister, and the Minister of Justice were the only ones in on it. Later on, the Minister of Foreign Affairs would feel very insulted that he had not been informed.
The Secretary of State’s assistant was a bit pale, but his hands were not trembling in the least. He suddenly began coughing just as he was about to insert the last three invitations into their envelopes. He began to search through his pockets, pretending that he couldn’t find his handkerchief. And then he pulled the forged letters from his pocket, along with his handkerchief, so skillfully that only those in the know could have spotted this.
“Excuse me, Your Royal Highness,” he said humbly. “There’s a broken window in my office and I’ve caught a cold.”
“No need to apologize,” said Matt. “Actually, it’s my fault, because I broke that window during our snowball fight.”
The assistant was very happy because he thought he had brought it off. Then, suddenly, the Minister of Justice said: “Gentlemen, your attention, please. If the ministers would set their cigars aside . . .”
They knew immediately that something had happened. The Minister of Justice put his spectacles on his nose and turned to the Secretary of State’s assistant. “I arrest you in the name of the law as a spy and a traitor. In accordance with paragraph 174, you will be hanged.”
The assistant’s eyes bulged as he started wiping the sweat from his forehead, but still he pretended to be calm. “Mr. Minister, I don’t know anything, nothing. I’m sick, I have a cough. They broke the window in my office. I have to go home and go to bed.”
“No, my friend, you’re not going anywhere. They’ll cure your cold in prison.”
In came five guards and chained the assistant hand and foot.
“What’s going on?” asked the ministers in astonishment.
“You’ll see in a moment, gentlemen. Would Your Royal Highness please break the seal on these letters.”
Matt opened the envelopes and showed them the forged letters.
The letters said: “Now that all the savage kings are my friends, I couldn’t care less about you. I beat you once, I’ll beat you again. And then you’ll do whatever I say. I hereby declare war on you.”
One of the guards pulled the invitations to the European kings out of the assistant’s pocket. The invitations were balled up in his handkerchief.
Bound in chains, the assistant was ordered to sign an official statement admitting everything. The Secretary of State was summoned by telephone and arrived at once, trembling in fear.
“Oh, that no-good bum!” he cried. “I was going to come here myself, but he begged me to let him come instead. He bought me a ticket to the circus and told me the show was great. And, like a fool, I believed the whole thing!”
Five generals were summoned to hold the trial.
“If the defendant tells the truth, it may help him. But if he tries to wriggle out of it, it’s all over.”
“I’ll tell the truth.”
“How long have you been a spy?”
“Three months.”
“Why did you become a spy?”
“Because I lost a lot of money at cards and couldn’t pay. And gambling debts have to be paid within twenty-four hours. And so I borrowed some government money.”
“You mean you stole it.”
“I thought I’d be able to just put it back.”
“And what happened?”
“I played cards again to win back my money, and I lost even more.”
“When was that?”
“About six months ago.”
“What happened next?”
“I was afraid there would be an audit and I’d be sent to prison. So I became a spy for one of the foreign kings.”
“How much did he pay you?”
“Different amounts. For important information I got a lot, less if it wasn’t so important. I was supposed to receive a great deal of money for this job.”
“Generals, judges, gentlemen,” said the Minister of Justice. “This man is guilty of three crimes. The first is stealing government money. The second is spying. And the third is trying to start a war that would have cost the lives of many innocent people. In accordance with paragraph 174, I demand the death penalty for him. The accused is not in the military, so there is no need for a firing squad. An ordinary hanging will do. As for the Secretary of State, he is responsible for his assistant’s actions. I have nothing against going to the circus, but he should have come to such an important meeting himself and not sent his assistant, who turned out to be a spy. That is very great negligence, and he deserves six months in prison for it.”
The generals retired to deliberate. Matt walked up to the Prime Minister and whispered: “Why did our spy tell us that the Secretary of State was going to switch the papers, not his assistant?”
“Oh, a spy’s information can’t be one hundred percent accurate. A spy can’t ask too many questions, that would attract too much attention. Spies have to be very careful.”
“Still, it was very intelligent advice not to hurry with the arrest but to wait for the meeting,” marveled Matt. “I was itching to arrest him the whole time.”
“Oh, no, that would have been wrong. Best to pretend that you know nothing and catch them red-handed. Then they can’t wriggle out of it.”
The master of ceremonies struck the table three times with his silver gavel as the generals filed back in.
“Here is our verdict: The Secretary of State is sentenced to one month in prison, his assistant is to be hanged.”
The condemned man began to plead for mercy and to weep so loudly that Matt felt sorry for him.
Matt also remembered that he, too, had once been before a military court and had survived only because the judges had quarreled about whether to shoot him or hang him.
“Your Royal Highness has the right to commute the sentence from death to life in prison.”
Matt wrote on the verdict:
“I commute the sentence to life in prison.”
And can you guess what time Matt went to bed?
At three o’clock in the morning.
MATT WAS STILL eating his breakfast when the journalist walked in.
“I wanted to be the first to bring Your Royal Highness today’s paper. I think Your Royal Highness will be pleased.”
“What’s the news?”
“If you would be so good as to see for yourself.”
On the front page was a drawing of Matt on his throne, with thousands of children, holding bouquets, kneeling in front of him. Beneath the drawing was a poem that praised Matt, calling him the greatest king in the history of the world, the greatest reformer, child of the sun and brother of the gods.
Matt did not like either the drawing or the poem, but he didn’t say so because he did not want to hurt the journalist’s feelings.
On page 2 there was a photograph of Felek and an article: First Child Prime Minister in the World. Felek was praised for being wise and brave; Matt had conquered grownup kings, and Felek would conquer grownup ministers.
“Grownups don’t know how to govern,” the article said, “because they can’t run. They don’t like running because they’re old and their bones ache.”
And it went on that way for an entire page!
Matt didn’t like it at all. What good was all this praise when the future was still cloudy? And it wasn’t nice to attack old people, either. Since Matt had really taken charge of the government, he had lived in harmony with his ministers, was glad to listen to their advice, and had learned a great deal from them.
But the most interesting news was buried in the back of the paper: A Fire in the Royal Forests.
“The foreign king’s largest forest has burned,” said the journalist.
Matt nodded his head to indicate that he had seen the article, which he then read very carefully.
The article said that one of the men cutting timber had been careless with a cigarette and caused a terrible fire.
“Still, it’s strange,” said the journalist. “I can understand a forest catching on fire in the summer when it’s dry, but there was snow on the ground not long ago. And apparently there was a huge, great explosion. Forests don’t explode.”
Matt finished his breakfast without saying a word.
“What does Your Royal Highness think about it?” asked the journalist. “There’s something suspicious about that fire.”
The journalist said this in a soft and very pleasant tone of voice. And without quite knowing why, Matt thought: I have to be careful with this one.
The journalist lit a cigarette and changed the subject. “I’ve heard that the Secretary of State was sentenced to a month in prison yesterday. I did not inform our paper about this because the children aren’t very interested in what the grownups are doing. But it would be another story if there were problems with their own ministers. Your Royal Highness made an excellent choice in appointing Felek Prime Minister. The soldiers are thrilled that a platoon leader’s son has become a minister. The newspaper boys know Felek because he used to sell newspapers before the war. All the other children are happy about it, too. But why did the poor Secretary get tossed in jail?”
“There were irregularities in his ministry,” answered Matt evasively. For some strange reason, he suddenly thought that the journalist might be a spy.
Matt thought about the journalist for a long time after he left. I’m imagining things. I’m not getting enough sleep. I’ve heard so much about spies the last couple of days that now I’m suspicious of everyone.
But Matt soon forgot all about it, because he had so much work to do before the kings arrived.
There were endless meetings with the master of ceremonies. The summer palace in the gardens was renovated in great haste for the African kings. A small, separate palace was built in case any of the Oriental kings did arrive. The European kings would stay in Matt’s palace.
Cages of wild animals kept arriving. They had to hurry to finish the zoo in time.
They were building summer camps for the children and two huge parliament buildings all at the same time.
Elections for delegates to parliament were held throughout the land. It was decided that the delegates to the small, or children’s, parliament should not be younger than ten or older than fifteen. Two delegates were elected from each school, one from the upper grades and one from the lower. This caused a lot of confusion, because it turned out that there were so many schools that all the delegates could not be accommodated in one hall. So many letters kept arriving that Matt had to spend long hours in his study. The letters were important and contained all sorts of questions.
Can girls be elected delegates?
Of course they can.
Can children who still don’t know how to write very well be elected delegates?
Where will the delegates who come from the towns and the country live?
Would there be a school for the delegates so they would not lose a year while they were in the capital for sessions of parliament?
The Secretary of State’s sentence was changed to house arrest, which meant that he had to stay in his house for a month and could not even go out for a walk. But he was brought to the palace each day by car, because Matt could not manage without him.
The master of ceremonies set up the schedule for the festivities. There were many questions: What sorts of triumphal arches should there be for the foreign kings, and where should they be situated? On which streets were the bands to play? What sorts of flowers were to be imported? Plates, knives, and forks had to be bought. More automobiles were needed. And what seats should the kings be given in the theater, and what places at the dinner table? The important kings had to be given the best places, and kings who didn’t like each other should not be seated side by side. Wines, fruits, and flowers were being imported from the warm countries. Run-down houses were being repainted and streets repaired. Matt wasn’t sleeping or eating, all he did was work, work, work.
“The architects are here to see Your Royal Highness.”
“The gardener wishes to speak with Your Royal Highness.”
“The Minister of Foreign Affairs is waiting to see you.”
“The ambassador of an Oriental king wishes to see you.”
“Two gentlemen to see Your Royal Highness.”
“What do they want?” asked Matt impatiently, called away from lunch for the third time.
“They want to talk with you about the fireworks.”
Angry and hungry, Matt went back to his study. He rarely received people in the throne room now. There just wasn’t any time for ceremony.
“What do you gentlemen want? Please be brief, I’m short of time.”
“We heard that some savage kings are coming here. They should be shown something that will amaze them. The zoo won’t interest them, because they’ve seen plenty of wild animals at home. And the theater won’t mean much to them, either.”
“All right, all right,” said Matt. “And so you want to put on a fireworks display?”
“That’s right.”
Rockets would be placed on all government buildings. A tall tower, a windmill, and a “waterfall” would be built in the royal gardens. All the fireworks would be set off at night. Rockets with red tails would shoot into the air from the top of the tower and send down showers of green and blue as they fell. The arms of the windmill would spin circles of green and red. Fiery flowers would blossom in the sky. And then, last but not least, the flaming waterfall.
“Here are the sketches. Perhaps Your Royal Highness would care to have a look at them.”
The pyrotechnicians had brought one hundred and twenty sketches of what the fireworks would look like. Matt looked them over, but meanwhile his lunch was getting cold.
“And how much will it cost?” asked Matt cautiously.
At the last meeting, the Minister of Finance had spoken of the need for new loans.
“How can that be,
with all the gold we had?” Matt had said in surprise.
“That’s true, but Your Royal Highness’s reforms are awfully expensive.”
Then they began calculating how much the summer camps, the two huge parliament buildings, the monthly chocolate, the dolls, and the skates would cost altogether.
“We’ll be lucky to have enough money to pay for all the festivities for our guests from abroad.”
“You mean we might run short?” asked Matt, truly frightened.
“It’s not really a problem, because we can always levy new taxes. Now everyone is earning good money; they can chip in.”
“Oh,” sighed Matt, “if only we had our own seaport and our own ships, Bum Drum could send us as much gold as we wanted.”
“That can be fixed,” said the Minister of War. “But you can’t stint on cannons, rifles, and forts if you want a seaport. Yes, cannons are more important than chocolate and skates.”
Matt turned red. Yes, it was true, a couple of new fortresses would come in very handy right now. At their meetings, the Minister of War was always saying that some of the gold from Bum Drum should be allocated for the army. But Matt was so busy that he kept telling the minister to wait a while.
Matt agreed to the fireworks display, but with a heavy heart.
“There’s no way out of it. We’ll economize later. But we have to do something for the African kings, too.”
Matt went to bed late that night and thought: Maybe I was wrong not to order the spy to blow up the fortress, too. Then the old king’s son would have always been one fortress short. If he wants war, let there be war.
But Matt wouldn’t be stupid next time around. He’d say: I beat you, so give me one seaport and ten ships.
MATT HAD ALREADY visited the foreign kings, and so he knew how guests should be treated. They had done things very beautifully. But no one had ever seen anything like the reception Matt prepared for his friends the kings, and they were the first to admit it. Nearly everything had been arranged well in advance, but Matt thought up several surprises only after the kings had arrived. It was something new each day—hunts, outings, circus shows with trained animals, wrestling matches.
King Matt the First Page 18