Return of the Wordmonger

by Stephen Lomer

Dick was flooded with relief as he stood and crossed the room to the door. He was almost out into the hallway when he heard, “Oh, Lieutenant Shonnary. One further matter.”

  Dick paused at the doorway.

  “I have been serving this royal family for a very long time,” the captain said, standing up and rounding his desk to approach Dick. “I bore witness to the king’s coronation ceremony. I was here when each of the king’s children was born. They have trusted me implicitly, and I have never failed them.

  “A man in my position should never play favorites, but I have always had a special fondness for Princess Anne. Before I achieved this post, I served as her personal security within the palace, and never have I known such a kind and empathetic woman as she.”

  Dick stood there listening, waiting for the hammer to fall.

  “I know about Anne and Agent Hoozarmi,” the captain said baldly. Dick opened his mouth to try to explain, but the captain held up a warning finger, and Dick closed it again.

  “I understand the difficult position you find yourself in,” he continued. “Anne has been headstrong since she was a child and is not easily denied. She found a way around the rules designed to keep Agent Hoozarmi away from her, and I must accept that.”

  The captain took two long strides toward Dick until the two of them were face-to-face.

  “But mark me—if any harm comes to Anne due to any action or inaction on Agent Hoozarmi’s part, I’ll have both your head and his stuffed and mounted on my wall. Am I clear?”

  Dick swallowed.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Very good. Off you go, then.”

  When Dick returned to the suite, Big and Ewan were seated at the main table.

  “Well? How did it go?” Ewan asked.

  Dick recounted the tale of his meeting with the captain.

  “Wait, hold on a second,” Big said, turning from Dick to Ewan. “You’re saying that the entire country of England said you couldn’t set foot here unless you agreed to stay away from Anne, but now Anne’s dogging you, and that’s perfectly fine?”

  “Anne is not dogging me,” Ewan said irritably. “But in its essentials, yes, that is the case.”

  “Goddamn, man,” Big said, smiling and shaking his head slowly. “I never thought I’d do this, but here goes. High five.”

  Big held his hand up high, and after a bemused moment, Ewan slapped it.

  “Perhaps it’s the uniform that women find so irresistible,” Ewan said, folding his arms. “That would explain you and Constable Leytur carrying on in the south wing linen closet.”

  The statement hung in the silent room. Big turned slowly from Ewan to Dick.

  “Excuse me?” asked Dick.

  “She had something in her eye,” Big said quickly. “I was just helping.”

  Dick buried his face in his hands and propped his elbows on the table. “Big,” he said, exasperated.

  “Listen,” Big said quickly, “I take no responsibility for the effect that this face and this body have on women. Okay?”

  “Even if that effect is extreme nausea?” Ewan offered.

  Big glared at him. “Shouldn’t you be wrapped up in a chamber in Egypt?”

  “All right, enough,” Dick said. He removed his hands from his face and looked from Ewan to Big. “What is it about this place that makes grown people behave like horny teenagers?”

  “Better watch it, boss,” Big said. “Ms. Fits has taken a real shine to you. You could be next.”

  Just after midnight, Dick, Weatherbee, and Siya sat around the communal table, none of them particularly inclined toward sleep, comparing notes and discussing theories on who the Wordmonger could be. Their conversation was cut short by a soft rapping on the door. Dick answered it, and in the hallway found Prince Edwin standing there in his pajamas and dressing gown.

  “Your Majesty?” Dick said as Weatherbee and Siya rose from their seats behind him.

  “Ah, Lieutenant Shonnary,” Edwin said nervously. “You’re awake.”

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “Oh, well . . . ah, it’s so foolish, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Dick said. “What’s going on?”

  Edwin sighed. “Well, you see, I have rather a bad habit of sneaking off to the kitchens for a midnight snack some nights.” He patted his rounded belly. “Most nights, actually.”

  “Okay,” Dick said.

  “Well, I’m a fierce creature of habit, with a touch of obsession, and when I leave my bedroom for these nighttime excursions, I shut the door firmly. And then push on it to make certain it’s shut. And then open it again and close it again, just to be sure.”

  Dick nodded. “Go on.”

  “When I returned to my bedroom tonight, I found the door slightly ajar. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I closed it with my complicated ritual. So I started to worry . . . that, perhaps . . .”

  “. . . the Wordmonger was waiting for you?” Dick finished helpfully.

  Edwin nodded. “Yes, just so.”

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, you did the right thing.” Dick turned to Weatherbee and Siya. “I’m going to go have a look. I’ll be back shortly.”

  “You don’t want backup?” asked Siya.

  “I’ll be fine. Your Majesty, lead the way.”

  Dick and Edwin walked through the palace, drawing curious stares from the few late-night staff members making their rounds. They passed into the east wing, which Dick had never seen before. It was opulent, luxurious, and made the rest of the palace look like a low-rent function hall.

  At the top of the grandest staircase Dick had ever seen stood two stone-faced members of the King’s Royal Guard, on either side of a set of double doors. In their hands they held great shining battle axes, crossed in front of the doors, assuring that no one who wished to keep their head would approach, much less get through.

  As Dick and the prince reached the top of the stairs, Edwin nodded, and the two guards smartly withdrew their axes to let them pass. Dick and Edwin entered a round, domed chamber done in vast quantities of burgundy and gold. Ornate doors dotted the walls, all closed except the first one to their left. Edwin nodded toward it. Dick approached cautiously.

  He pushed the door further open with his toe and swept the room from left to right. As his eyes passed over the grand four-poster bed, he spotted a crude handmade sign tacked to the headboard that read OUR LITLE PRINSE.

  His tic triggered immediately and he fell to one knee in the doorway, trying to keep the room in focus. He lurched forward awkwardly and found himself on all fours, shuffling in the direction of the bed.

  “Lieutenant?” he heard Edwin call from outside the room. “Are you all right?”

  “Stay there!” Dick said, but only a choked whisper came out. He kept moving doggedly forward, ignoring the way the floor appeared to shift under his hands and knees, and made it to one of the nightstands next to the bed. He used it to hoist himself up, knocking a lamp to the floor where it shattered, and flopped forward on the bed. He raised his hand, snagged the corner of the sign, and pulled it face-down on the bed with him.

  He pulled in a deep breath and blew it into the duvet.

  And suddenly, an arm was wrapped tightly around his throat.

  Whoever the arm belonged to was incredibly strong, and yanked Dick up off the bed, shaking him around like a rag doll. Dick tried to focus on fighting, but he was still off-kilter and woozy from the typo.

  Dick managed a stiff kick to his assailant’s shin. There was a cry of pain in his ear and the arm loosened from around his neck, letting him tumble to the floor. Dick rolled over and fought to stop the room spinning long enough to identify his attacker.

  It was Prince Edwin. But at the same time, it wasn’t. His eyes bulged madly from their sockets and thin, ropy strands of saliva slipped out from his unnaturally wide, maniacal grin. As Dick watched, Edwin grabbed an enormous vase off a dressing table and threw it at him. He rolled
to his left and it smashed on the floor next to him.

  Before Dick had a chance to gain his footing, Edwin snatched a long silver letter opener from a nearby writing desk and threw himself physically on top of Dick, the blade’s point aimed directly at Dick’s throat. Dick grabbed Edwin’s wrists and pushed back as hard as he could, but Edwin’s weight was driving the opener downward.

  Dick felt the metal dig into his skin right next to his Adam’s apple . . .

  Then suddenly the room was filled with screams and confused shouting, and Dick saw a flurry of arms constrict around Edwin and yank him upward. Edwin thrashed and howled like a wounded animal.

  Weatherbee’s anxious face swam into his blurred vision. He could feel cloth being pressed against his neck where the letter opener had pierced him.

  “Dick!” Weatherbee cried, and Siya’s terrified face appeared next to him. “Dick, are you all right?”

  “Typo,” Dick mumbled, closing his eyes and fighting the spinning sensation in his head. “On the bed.”

  Then the world faded to black.

  When Dick awoke, he had the sense that only a few minutes had passed. He was still on the floor and something remained pressed against his wound. He hoisted himself to his elbows.

  “Easy, Dick, easy,” Weatherbee said, still by Dick’s side. Dick blinked several times and saw that the room had filled. Emma and Ermengarde were there, looking thoroughly shaken. The two axe-wielding guards were there as well, each with a hand on Edwin’s shoulders, and the captain stood between them, his expression like stone. Edwin no longer looked maniacal; he was sitting in a chair, weeping, shaking his head and muttering. The doorway was choked with concerned onlookers, whispering among themselves.

  “Typo secured?” Dick asked.

  Siya nodded.

  “Good. Help me up,” Dick mumbled, and Weatherbee and Siya got under him and lifted him to his feet. He took a few deep breaths and everything slowly came into sharper focus.

  “Lieutenant Shonnary,” Emma said, approaching him. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Dick said.

  Emma nodded. “What on earth happened?”

  “There was a typo pinned to the prince’s bed.”

  The color drained from Emma’s face. “You mean . . . you mean the Wordmonger was here? In the royal chambers?”

  Dick nodded. “Looks that way.”

  Emma looked around the room, as if fearful that the Wordmonger might still be there.

  “But then why did my brother attack you?” Ermengarde asked from behind them. Dick had never heard her speak before, and she had a high, fluttery voice. “Why did he look so . . . so crazed?”

  “I have a theory on that,” Dick said, raising a finger. He shuffled over to where Edwin sat.

  “You got worried about me and poked your head in, didn’t you?” he asked kindly. Edwin looked up and nodded.

  “You saw the typo on the headboard.” Edwin nodded again.

  “That’s a hellacious tic you’ve got there, my friend,” Dick said, and Edwin looked up and managed a watery smile.

  “I am so terribly sorry for what happened,” Edwin said, looking from the wound on Dick’s neck to the remains of the vase on the floor. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Your Majesty, don’t even think twice about it. And hey, let’s accentuate the positive—I survived, and now we know you’re immune to typos.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The next morning over breakfast, the others sat riveted as Dick, Weatherbee, and Siya recounted the events of the previous night.

  “Holy shit,” Big said, wide-eyed. “The heir to the throne of England tried to murder you. You get to have all the fun.”

  Before Dick could reply, the double doors swung open and Wrenchley entered, looking as crisp as ever in his tuxedo, accompanied by the two young servants who regularly fetched their plates and silverware.

  “Hey, Wrenchley,” Big said immediately.

  “Sir?”

  Big pulled a grotesque face. “There. How do you like it?”

  Wrenchley’s expression remained fixed. “Your presence is requested in the library,” he announced as the servants cleared the table.

  “Whose presence?” asked Dick.

  “Lieutenant Shonnary, Inspector Frienderfoe, Agent Whig, Agent Hoozarmi, Constable Leytur, and Ms. Fits.”

  “Which library?” asked Big. “There’s, like, a hundred of them.”

  “The main library,” Wrenchley replied.

  “When?” asked Siya.

  “Now.”

  They followed Wrenchley down a series of staircases to the main floor, where they passed through a small hallway into a room they’d never visited before. The ceilings were high, and very old and fragile-looking books sat on shelves around the library’s perimeter.

  Dick knew they hadn’t been called down for a pleasant chat when he looked around the center of the room. Four long tables had been set into a square. Along the farthest table sat the royal family. At the table to the left sat a group of grim-faced older men in business suits, one of whom Dick recognized as the British prime minister. To the right sat the captain and other members of the King’s Guard. The fourth table, facing everyone, sat empty, waiting for them to arrive.

  The atmosphere was tense and suffocating. It was as though they had walked in on a wake.

  “Please be seated,” the queen consort said, her voice echoing slightly in the open space of the room. Dick and the others sat.

  He could see the tightness around Emma’s lips. He had the sense that she was well practiced in holding back her emotions, and that she was doing so now with great difficulty. Seated beside her, King Edmund alone looked pleased, grinning and looking around, as though this was just another ceremonial gathering.

  “I shall get straight to the heart of the matter,” Emma said in measured tones. “I wish to know what’s to be done.”

  The prime minister cleared his throat heavily, making his long jowls quiver. “Given the events of last night, it’s the government’s position that for their own protection, the royal family must be moved to a safe location.”

  The captain of the King’s Guard nodded. “I wholeheartedly agree.”

  “With all due respect, that would be a mistake,” Ms. Fits said confidently, and Dick and Weatherbee looked at one another, astonished.

  The queen consort looked at her. “And you are?”

  “Ms. Fits, Your Majesty.”

  “Ms. Fits,” the queen consort said, “the Wordmonger infiltrated my son’s bedroom last night. As it happens, he is unhurt, but that is far too close for comfort.”

  “A comfit?” asked the king suddenly. “Oh, I’d love one, thanks very much. One of my favorite sweets!” He cackled laughter and Emma patted his hand.

  “I’m so glad to hear it, my dear,” she said, then turned her attention back to Ms. Fits. “Why do you believe that moving my family somewhere safe would be a mistake, Ms. Fits?”

  “Because the Wordmonger is ultimately after you, and if you’re not here to draw him out, we’ll never be able to stop him.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I lack faith in your ability to stop him,” the queen consort said waspishly. “Given your results thus far.”

  Dick cleared his throat. It sounded loud in his ears.

  “Lieutenant Shonnary?”

  “I agree with Ms. Fits, Your Majesty,” Dick said.

  “Well I most assuredly do not!” the prime minister jumped in. “How can you guarantee the royal family’s safety while you wait for this Wordmonger character to strike again?”

  “We can’t, Prime Minister,” Weatherbee offered. “But unless we’re allowed to continue and finish our investigation, Buckingham Palace will never be truly safe again.”

  “Why couldn’t we just fire the staff?” asked Princess Ermengarde. “We could bring in all new people. That would rid us of the Thirdmonger, wouldn’t it?”

  “Wordmonger, dear,” Emma corrected her.
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  “Oh, none for me, thank you,” the king said. “Gives me the trots, don’t you know.”

  Big burst out laughing, but quieted himself quickly under Emma’s icy stare.

  “It would be impractical to replace the staff,” said a voice from behind them, and only then did Dick realize that Wrenchley had remained in the room. “Many staff members have been here for decades, some for generations. To train that many new individuals would prove quite chaotic indeed.”

  “Who’s that?” the king said, squinting toward the back of the room. “Wrenchley! Got another for me, have you?”

  “Your Majesty?” Wrenchley said blankly.

  Emma turned to her daughter.

  “Ermengarde, would you be so kind as to take your father to his chambers? He needs his rest.”

  “Of course,” Ermengarde said, rising. She approached the king’s seat and reached gently for the old man’s elbow. “Come, daddy. Perhaps a short nap before dinner.”

  The king rose and blinked benignly at his daughter.

  “Lady Filby!” he said, delighted. “You old teaser. Tell me, do you still have those photographs of you in your bathing costume?”

  Ermengarde led the king to the nearest door and disappeared.

  “Your Majesty,” Ewan said in the silence that followed.

  “Agent Hoozarmi?”

  Ewan stood and placed his hands behind his back. “Your Majesty, on behalf of Typo Squad and Her Majesty’s Royal Typo Brigade, I wish to express our sincere regret that a typo reached that close to your family. As you know, I have a personal stake in seeing the Wordmonger exposed and brought to justice. So I ask you, please, to allow us to finish what we started more than forty years ago. We will find him. You have my word.”

  All eyes turned to the queen consort. Her expression was inscrutable. No one made a sound.

  “Very well,” she said at last. “I freely admit that I do not wish to be chased from my home, especially not by a thug who hides behind typos like a coward. But let me make this abundantly clear to squad and brigade members alike: There will be no further typo-related incidents in the royal chambers. Am I understood?”