Return of the Wordmonger

by Stephen Lomer

  “I don’t know,” the king said lightly. “What did he say?”

  “Wrenchley’s father,” Emma said forcefully. “Was he your son?”

  The king thought it over, his bushy white eyebrows knitted in concentration.

  “Oh yes,” he said at last. “That young Welsh girl who dropped her knickers. Had a boy, yes, Wrenchley, that’s right.”

  Emma looked beside herself. “Edwin,” she called to her son, and the prince rose from his throne. “Take your father back to his chambers. Now.”

  Edwin took the king by the elbow and helped him up, guiding him toward a side entrance.

  “Done here, are we?” the king asked no one in particular. “Well that was simple enough.”

  When they were gone, Emma took a deep breath and regained her composure.

  “So,” she said to Wrenchley, “is that why you took up the mantle of the Wordmonger and threatened my family? Justice for your father?”

  “No, ma’am,” said Wrenchley. “Whether or not I am of the king’s lineage does not interest or concern me as it did my father.”

  “Why, then?”

  At this point, the only real expression Dick had ever seen on Wrenchley’s face appeared: sneering contempt. He turned his head and looked directly at Weatherbee.

  “Them.”

  “Her Majesty’s Royal Typo Brigade?” Emma asked, mystified.

  “When my father told me the story of his attempts as the Wordmonger, I thought him a fool,” Wrenchley said. “He couldn’t see that the hero of the story was Constable Hoozarmi, keeping the princess safe at all costs and winning her heart. I decided I wanted to be the hero too, so I applied to Typo University. I graduated with honors and was immediately called up to the Typo Brigade. It was a dream come true.”

  “Yes!” Weatherbee cried, and suddenly all eyes were on him. He pointed at Wrenchley. “I knew I recognized him from somewhere! We were in the Brigade together!”

  “Indeed we were,” Wrenchley said coldly.

  “Continue,” Emma commanded.

  “Shortly after I began, we were all called into action in the field. We confronted a lone errorist attempting to drape a typo over the side of the London Eye. He briefly succeeded, and in doing so, triggered my tic. I thought my teammates would be professional when they learned what it was—be understanding and supportive. But they weren’t. They turned on me.

  “We subdued and detained the errorist, but from that day forward, every member of Her Majesty’s Royal Typo Brigade mocked me mercilessly. Tormented me about my tic. It became a living, waking nightmare. The inspector at the time thought I needed toughening up, and so refused to intercede. I had no choice but to resign my commission.”

  As Wrenchley spoke, Dick thought of all the different tics he’d seen in his career. Some had been amusing, some had been annoying, and he’d certainly seen his share of bizarre ones. What kind of tic could have been so mortifying that Wrenchley had to walk away?

  He leaned into Weatherbee. “What was his tic?” he whispered.

  “When he would see a typo, he would immediately begin dancing Swan Lake,” Weatherbee whispered back.

  Dick pondered this. “That doesn’t sound so—”

  “In its entirety.”

  “Oh. Well that’s still not—”

  “While furiously masturbating.”

  “Ah.” Dick nodded. “Impressive.”

  Emma continued the interrogation. “So you gave new life to the Wordmonger and drew Her Majesty’s Royal Typo Brigade—and Typo Squad, through no fault of their own—to what? Discredit them? Humiliate them?”

  “That’s right, ma’am,” Wrenchley nodded. “Using the king to deliver the typos, I had an alibi for my whereabouts at all times. I handed him the papers and signs and told him where to deliver them, and he was only too happy to trot off and do it. His poor eyesight kept him safe.”

  “And did you assume that the king would eventually get caught and be accused of being the Wordmonger himself?” Emma asked.

  Wrenchley gave a small shrug. “If the king didn’t get caught, then Her Majesty’s Royal Typo Brigade would have looked like utter fools, never having been able to catch the perpetrator. As the king was caught, I’d planned to let everyone believe he was the Wordmonger, then introduce typos clandestinely myself, thus proving the brigade had been wrong all along, and dishonor them that way.”

  “Well,” Emma said, standing, “it seems in your attempts to discredit them, you failed to give them enough credit.”

  Wrenchley stared back at her, defiant. “What will happen to me?”

  The captain smacked the back of Wrenchley’s head as hard as he could. “You murdered two of my men, you wretched piece of filth!” he cried. “You’ll rot in the darkest dungeon for the rest of your days!”

  He straightened up and addressed the queen consort. “Unless, Your Majesty, you’d prefer his head?”

  Emma considered Wrenchley thoughtfully. “Get him out of my sight,” she said. “I prefer that he imagine the horrors I can order upon him while he waits to see which one I choose.”

  The captain nodded toward his men, and four members of the King’s Guard marched out to him in formation. They knelt, then hoisted Wrenchley, chair and all, and walked him out of the room.

  Alastair, the master of the household, stepped forward.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I ask that you clear the throne room, please!” he called out, his voice carrying. “Thank you!”

  People began to file out, chatting excitedly about what had just happened. Dick and company joined the flow, until he heard Emma calling them back.

  “Typo Squad, Typo Brigade, a moment, if you please,” she said from the edge of the raised throne dais. Dick, Ewan, Weatherbee, Hissie, Siya, and Big stepped aside to allow the departing crowd to leave, then approached the queen consort.

  She looked them over appraisingly, a small smile on her handsome face.

  “Well done, all of you. You ferreted out and apprehended the Wordmonger,” she said. “On behalf of the entire royal family, you have my thanks.”

  Dick, Ewan, Big, and Weatherbee bowed, and Siya and Hissie curtsied.

  “Arrangements will be made to return you to civilian life tomorrow afternoon,” she continued. “I imagine you’re all looking forward to rejoining the outside world. But before you go, your presence is requested and required at a small ceremony tomorrow morning. I shall see you all then.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Dick went through his morning routine slowly, savoring his last few minutes in the opulence and luxury that only now, with the Wordmonger in custody, could he fully appreciate.

  He packed his suitcase, his eyes drawn repeatedly to the London skyline outside his window. He would miss it, but looked forward to describing it in detail to Thea when he finally got home.

  When he entered the communal room, everyone else was already seated around the main table, talking softly.

  “Morning,” Weatherbee said.

  “Morning,” Dick replied.

  Before their conversation could go any further, there was a knock at the main doors.

  “Yes?” Weatherbee called.

  The doors swung open and an underbutler they didn’t know entered with two footmen, bearing their final breakfast on rolling carts.

  “Breakfast,” the underbutler stated, and they set to serving.

  “Are you Wrenchley’s replacement?” Big asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Any word on what happened to ol’ Wrenchley?” Big continued.

  “Rumor has it he is currently in the dungeons, hanging upside-down by his ankles as rats the size of small dogs slowly devour his face,” the underbutler said calmly. “Of course, we don’t engage in rumors, sir.”

  The underbutler bowed himself out of the room with his two colleagues and Big turned to Weatherbee.

  “Was that his attempt at a joke?”

  “I believe so, yes,” Weatherbee said, spreading his napk
in on his lap.

  “I can’t wait to get out of this country,” Big muttered, and tucked into a plate of eggs and sausage.

  After breakfast, half a dozen footmen came by the suite to take their luggage. Dick and the others waited for a short while, mostly making small talk, until another knock at the door announced the captain of the King’s Guard.

  “Follow me,” he said shortly.

  They formed a single-file line and followed him out of the room. In the hallway immediately outside, palace staff members lined the walls, and as they passed, each held out their hands for congratulatory handshakes, then smiled and nodded them along.

  It continued as the crew turned the corner and headed down the main staircase: hundreds of palace workers of every stripe, taking the time out of their busy day to convey their thanks and congratulations.

  Dick and the others treated the situation with polite incredulity, but Big was in his glory. “Hello, yes, I am wonderful, indeed, it’s true. Oh hi there, thank you so much. No, really, it was nothing, I knew I’d catch the Wordmonger eventually. Never doubted it.”

  After navigating the makeshift honor guard, they arrived at the doors to the throne room. The captain threw them wide and Dick felt his breath leave his lungs.

  The room was almost unrecognizable as the same one from the day before. Rows of chairs had been lined up facing the thrones, filled with gentlemen in tuxedos pinned with medals and ribbons, and women in lavish gowns. Massive sprays of fresh flowers burst forth from antique vases on stone plinths. The entire King’s Guard stood at full attention along the outer walls. Soft chamber music played in the background.

  Dick and the others followed the captain to the front of the room, where Emma sat in a dazzling silver dress and a full silver crown; she seemed to glow with an inner light. Beside her sat Edmund, still happily oblivious, but in his full military uniform and golden crown. On either side sat Prince Edwin, Princess Ermengarde, and Princess Anne, all looking equally resplendent.

  The captain lined them up facing the royals, and they bowed and curtsied as they had so many times before. The queen consort nodded, then rose, making her way over to Dick first.

  A footman appeared bearing a velvet box. Emma opened it and withdrew a large bronze medal hanging from a red ribbon. She held it up in front of Dick.

  “Lieutenant Richard Shonnary, for meritorious service worthy of recognition by the Crown, I hereby award you the British Empire Medal for Gallantry.”

  It took only a moment or two for the shock of what was happening to set in, but to Dick it felt like much longer. He lowered his head and Emma placed the medal around his neck. She extended her gloved hand and he shook it firmly.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Dick said hoarsely.

  He felt a wave of unreality wash over him as Emma made her way down the line, awarding the same medal to each of them. Dick was sure he heard Big sniff as he received his, and Dick smiled.

  Ewan was last, and Emma seemed to take much longer with him than the others. Dick turned his head ever so slightly and saw that Emma and Ewan were in a full conversation, though they were too far away for Dick to hear what they were saying. Whatever it was, Ewan’s face was lit up with joy, and when he shook Emma’s hand, he used both of his own to do so.

  Dick turned his head back, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anne’s cheeks were wet with tears, and yet her face mirrored the happiness that Ewan’s exuded. What was going on?

  The footman with the velvet box disappeared, and Emma regained her throne.

  “Hip hip!” the king suddenly shouted. The pronouncement was greeted with silence, and Dick could hear the dignitaries behind him shifting uncomfortably.

  “Come come, now!” the king said. “Hip hip!”

  “Hurrah,” the crowd responded softly.

  “Hip hip!”

  “Hurrah,” they called back, with a bit more enthusiasm.

  “Hip hip!”

  “Hurrah.”

  The king scowled. “People get more excited than that for my morning shit.”

  Dick heard a bray of howling laughter, and looked down the row to see Big’s stomach bouncing as he rejoiced in the king’s joke.

  King Edmund spotted him too, and a delighted grin spread across his face. “Liked that one, did you, biggun?”

  Big, still consumed with laughter, nodded.

  The king turned to Emma. “Let’s make this gentleman a knight of the realm.”

  Before the situation could escalate any further, the captain appeared next to Dick. “If you’ll follow me, please?”

  Dick turned and trailed the captain, the rest falling in step behind him. As they exited the room, Dick clearly heard the king say, “I liked that bulbous fellow.”

  The captain led them all back to his office, where he unlocked a safe behind his desk and withdrew the tray with their firearms.

  “Oh, Daddy missed you,” Big said to his gun before holstering it.

  The captain returned the first tray and then presented them with the second, holding their cell phones. Dick took his and powered it on. The icons told him he had hundreds of messages and thousands of emails waiting. He sighed deeply, powering it back off.

  “Your car is waiting in the courtyard,” the captain said, gesturing to the door. “Goodbye.”

  “No hugs?” Big asked.

  The captain eyed him beadily.

  “No hugs,” Big repeated, and headed off toward the courtyard.

  The same limousine with the Union Jack flags on the hood was waiting outside. The six of them piled in, waved to the footmen who opened and closed their doors, and settled in for the ride.

  As they passed through the main gates, they saw the hundreds of reporters who were still camped out across the street from the palace. They seemed to believe the limo was somehow consequential, and television cameras swiveled to catch it as camera flashes lit up the cloudy day.

  “Is there really no other news to report?” Weatherbee asked, as more than a few reporters ran after them, shouting questions.

  “Nope. We’re the front page, baby!” Big said. Then he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and smiled seductively. “Or are we page three?”

  Everyone laughed. Dick looked across at Ewan, who seemed unable to stop smiling, and admired the medal hanging around his neck. He leaned forward and patted Ewan’s knee.

  “Hey.”

  “Yes?” Ewan asked.

  “You did it. I’m proud of you. You caught your Wordmonger.”

  “Only took you forty years,” Big added. Siya elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Ow!”

  “Can’t you see they’re having a moment?” she hissed. “Shut up!”

  “Thank you, Richard,” Ewan said, ignoring the interruption. “And thank you both for coming with me. I truly appreciate it.”

  “Don’t get all sentimental on me, old man,” Big said. “When we get back to Las Palabras, I’m going to stick to you like glue to make sure you don’t get a big head over this.”

  “Oh, I shan’t be returning to Las Palabras,” Ewan said, looking out the window at the passing scenery.

  Everyone looked up. Dick took a moment to process what he was hearing. “Excuse me?”

  Ewan turned to them all and smiled. “You may have noticed the queen consort took an extra bit of time with me at the ceremony today,” he said. “She not only presented me with the medal, she informed me that, as part of her gratitude for my role in apprehending the Wordmonger, my ban in this country has been lifted. I can come and go as I please. Or stay, if I so desire.”

  “Ewan!” Weatherbee exclaimed. “How wonderful! Congratulations!”

  “Thank you.”

  “And you’re staying here. I can’t tell you how nice it will be to have an old face around.”

  “A very old face,” Big said immediately.

  “Of course, you’re always welcome back at the Brigade,” Weatherbee continued. “I daresay we could use some of what you’ve learne
d across the pond to our benefit.”

  “Ah, thank you, my old friend,” Ewan replied. “But I think I’ve earned a bit of a rest. No, it’s time for me to retire and start a new life with Anne.”

  “With Anne?” Siya piped up. “Wouldn’t you have to carry some sort of title to be with a royal?”

  “That was the other subject the queen consort and I discussed,” Ewan said, delighted. “She believes she can arrange a lordship for me.”

  “Wow,” Hissie said. “Lord Hoozarmi.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute!” Dick shouted, and the others fell silent. “Now before you and the princess retire to the English countryside, your lordship, can’t we at least discuss this? Ewan, you’re one of my top agents, and Anton Nym is still out there somewhere. I need you right now.”

  “I know that, Richard, and I should have found a better way to break this news to you,” Ewan said. “But what good would I be to you back in Las Palabras? My heart is here. My future is here. I’d spend every moment wondering when I could return.”

  Dick could tell just by the way Ewan spoke that every word was true. He would be miserable in Las Palabras, even assuming Dick could force him to come back. Dick sighed resignedly.

  “Well . . . there’s some paperwork you’ll need to fill out,” he said.

  “Understood,” Ewan said, his eyes bright.

  “Okay, well, I’m staying here too, then,” Big said. “I love the shitty weather, the shitty food, the shitty way people drive on the wrong side of the road. Oh wait, no I don’t. I’m getting the hell out as soon as humanly possible.”

  Siya pretended to look hurt. “But what about us?”

  “Sorry, baby,” Big said, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “But I’m too much man for just one woman.”

  “With about fifty pounds left over,” Ewan said.

  They arrived at the headquarters of Her Majesty’s Royal Typo Brigade a short while later. The six of them trooped into the office, where Bob and Philip were waiting.

  “Oh, you’re back!” Philip said before anyone had spoken a word. “What was the palace like? Did you meet the royal family? What are they like? I read in a magazine that Prince Edwin is an arrogant berk, but I don’t believe it.”