by Roald Dahl
‘Yes, I have.’
‘Two people have just brought it into my shop,’ Harry Gold whispered excitedly. ‘A man and a woman. Youngish. They’re trying to get it valued. They’re waiting out there now.’
‘Are you certain it’s my stone?’
‘Positive. I weighed it.’
‘Keep them there, Mr Gold!’ Robert Sandy cried. ‘Talk to them! Humour them! Do anything! I’m calling the police!’
Robert Sandy called the police station. Within seconds, he was giving the news to the Detective Inspector who was in charge of the case. ‘Get there fast and you’ll catch them both!’ he said. ‘I’m on my way, too!’
‘Come on, darling!’ he shouted to his wife. ‘Jump in the car. I think they’ve found our diamond and the thieves are in Harry Gold’s shop right now trying to sell it!’
When Robert and Betty Sandy drove up to Harry Gold’s shop nine minutes later, two police cars were already parked outside. ‘Come on, darling,’ Robert said. ‘Let’s go in and see what’s happening.’
There was a good deal of activity inside the shop when Robert and Betty Sandy rushed in. Two policemen and two plain-clothes detectives, one of them the Inspector, were surrounding a furious William Haddock and an even more furious theatre sister. Both the young surgeon and the theatre sister were handcuffed.
‘You found it where?’ the Inspector was saying.
‘Take these damn handcuffs off me!’ the sister was shouting. ‘How dare you do this!’
‘Tell us again where you found it,’ the Inspector said, caustic.
‘In someone’s stomach!’ William Haddock yelled back at him. ‘I’ve told you twice!’
‘Don’t give me that crap!’ the Inspector said.
‘Good God, William!’ Robert Sandy cried as he came in and saw who it was. ‘And Sister Wyman! What on earth are you two doing here?’
‘They had the diamond,’ the Inspector said. ‘They were trying to flog it. Do you know these people, Mr Sandy?’
It didn’t take very long for William Haddock to explain to Robert Sandy, and indeed to the Inspector, exactly how and where the diamond had been found.
‘Remove their handcuffs, for heaven’s sake, Inspector,’ Robert Sandy said. ‘They’re telling the truth. The man you want, at least one of the men you want, is in the hospital right now, just coming round from his anaesthetic. Isn’t that right, William?’
‘Correct,’ William Haddock said. ‘His name is John Diggs. He’ll be in one of the surgical wards.’
Harry Gold stepped forwards. ‘Here’s your diamond, Mr Sandy,’ he said.
‘Now listen,’ the theatre sister said, still angry, ‘would someone for God’s sake tell me how that patient came to swallow a diamond like this without knowing he’d done it?’
‘I think I can guess,’ Robert Sandy said. ‘He allowed himself the luxury of putting ice in his drink. Then he got very drunk. Then he swallowed a piece of half-melted ice.’
‘I still don’t get it,’ the sister said.
‘I’ll tell you the rest later,’ Robert Sandy said. ‘In fact, why don’t we all go round the corner and have a drink ourselves.’
Princess Mammalia
First published in Two Fables (1986)
When Princess Mammalia arose from her bed on the morning of her seventeenth birthday and examined her face in the looking-glass, she couldn’t believe what she saw. Up until then she had always been a rather plain and dumpy girl with a thick neck, but now she suddenly found herself staring at a young lady she had never set eyes on before. A magical transformation had taken place overnight and the dumpy little Princess had become a dazzling beauty. I use the word ‘dazzling’ in its purest and most literal sense, for such a blaze of glory, such a scintillation of stars, such a blinding beauty shone forth from her countenance that when she went downstairs an hour later to open her presents, those who gazed upon her at close quarters had to screw up their eyes for fear the brilliance of it all might damage their retinas. Even the royal astronomer was heard to murmur that it might be safer to view the lady through smoked glass, as one would the eclipse of the sun.
Ever since she had learned to walk, Princess Mammalia had been much loved around the Palace for her modest and gentle disposition, but she very soon found out that it is much more difficult for a ravishing beauty to remain modest and gentle than it is for a plain girl. She discovered that the kind of extraordinary beauty she possessed endowed her with immense power. In the glittering presence of her new-found image, men became so overwhelmed with desire that they were hers to command. Caliphs and rajas, grand viziers and generals, ministers and chancellors, camel drivers and rent collectors, all of them melted into a froth as soon as she appeared on the scene. They fawned and simpered. They drooled and dribbled. They crawled and toadied. She had only to lift her little finger and they all started scampering around the room in their efforts to please her. They offered her rich jewels and golden bracelets. They suggested lavish feasts in cool places, and whenever one of them got her in a corner on her own, he began to whisper obscenities in her ear. There were also problems with the staff. A servant is just as much of a man as a courtier, and after several unsavoury incidents in the corridors, the King was forced, much against his wishes, for he was a kind king, to order that all male servants in the Palace be castrated immediately. Only the royal chef escaped. He pleaded that it would ruin his cooking.
At first, and with charming innocence, the Princess simply sat back and enjoyed her new-found power. But that couldn’t go on. Nobody, let alone a maiden of seventeen, could remain unaffected for long. This was power indeed. It was power unheard of in one so young. And power itself, the Princess soon discovered, is a demanding taskmaster. It is impossible to have it and not use it. It insists on being exercised. Thus the Princess began consciously to exercise her power over men, first in small ways, then in rather bigger ones. It was ridiculously easy, like manipulating puppets.
At this point, the Princess made her second discovery, and it was this. If the power of a female is so great that men will obey her without question, she becomes contemptuous of those men, and within a month, the Princess found that the only feelings she had towards the male species were those of scorn and contumely. She began to practise all manner of droll stratagems to humiliate her worshippers. She took, for example, to going on walkabouts in the city and displaying herself to ordinary men in the street. Surrounded by her faithful guard of eunuchs, she would watch with amusement as the male citizens went crazy with desire at the sight of her blazing beauty, hurling themselves against the spears of the guards and becoming impaled by the hundreds.
Late at night, before retiring to bed, she would divert herself by strolling out on to her balcony and showing herself to the lascivious polloi who were wont to gather in their thousands in the courtyard below, hoping for a glimpse of her. And why not indeed? She looked more dazzling and desirable than ever standing there in the moonlight. In truth, she outshone the moon itself, and the citizens would go berserk as soon as she appeared, crying out and tearing their hair and fracturing their bones by flinging themselves against the craggy walls of the Palace. Every now and again, the Princess would pour a pipkin or two of boiling lead over their heads to cool them down.
All this was bad enough, but there was worse to come. As we all know, power, with all its subtle facets, is a voracious bedfellow. The more one has, the more one wants. There is no such thing as getting enough of it, and over the next few months the Princess’s craving for power grew and grew until in the end she found herself beginning to toy with the idea of gaining for herself the ultimate power in the land, the throne itself.
She was the eldest of seven children, all of them girls, and her mother was dead. Already, therefore, she was the rightful heir to her father’s throne. But what good was that? Her father, the King, who not so long ago had been the idol of her eye, now irritated her to distraction. He was a benign and merciful ruler, much loved by his people, and
because he was her father he was the only man in the Kingdom who did not turn cartwheels at the sight of her. What was worse, he was in excellent health.
Such is the terrible corrupting influence of power that the young Princess now began actually to plot the destruction of her own father. But that was easier said than done. It is extremely difficult to bump off a great ruler all on your own without being caught. Poison was a possibility, but poisoners are nearly always apprehended. She spent many days and nights ruminating upon this problem, but no answer came to her. Then one evening after supper, she strolled out on to her balcony as usual, thinking to divert herself for a few moments by driving the crowd of lecherous citizens crazy but, lo and behold, on this night there was no crowd. Instead, an old beggerman stood alone in the courtyard, gazing up at her. He was dressed in filthy rags and his feet were bare. He had a long white beard and a mane of snow-white hair that reached to his shoulders, and he leaned heavily upon a stick.
‘Go away, you disgusting old man,’ she called out.
‘Ssshh!’ the old beggar whispered, edging closer. ‘I am here to help you. It has come to me in a vision that you are deeply troubled.’
‘I am not in the least troubled,’ the Princess answered. ‘Be off with you unless you fancy a pipkin of boiling lead over your noddle.’
The old man ignored her. ‘There is only one way in the world,’ he whispered, ‘to dispose of an enemy without being caught. Do you wish to hear it?’
‘Certainly not,’ the Princess snapped. ‘Why should I? Yes, what is it?’
‘You take an oyster,’ the old man whispered, ‘and you bury it in the soil of a potted plant. Twenty-four hours later, you dig it up and you squeeze one droplet of its juice, just one droplet, mind you, on to each of the oysters that you are serving to the victim on the following day.’
‘Does that fix him?’ the Princess asked, unable to conceal her interest.
‘It is lethal,’ whispered the old man. ‘The person who eats those oysters will succumb very swiftly to a terrible paroxysm that will tie his whole body into knots. And after it is over, the whole world will simply shake their heads and murmur, “Poor fellow, he ate a very bad oyster.” ’
‘Who are you, old man, and where do you come from?’ the Princess asked, leaning over the balcony.
‘I am on the side of the righteous,’ the old man whispered, and with that he disappeared into the shadows.
The Princess stored this information away in her head and patiently bided her time. A few days before her eighteenth birthday, the King said to her, ‘What do you want for your birthday dinner, my dear? Shall it be your favourite roast boar as usual?’
‘Yes, papa,’ she answered. ‘But let us have some oysters first. I do so love oysters.’
‘What a capital idea,’ answered the King. ‘I shall send to the coast for them immediately.’
On the Princess’s birthday, the table in the great dining-room was sumptuously laid and all was got ready for the feast. One dozen fine oysters were put in each place, but before the guests went in to take their seats, the King entered the room alone, as was his wont on special occasions, to make sure that all was to his liking. He summoned the butler and together the two of them walked slowly round the table.
‘Why,’ asked the King, pointing to his own plate, ‘have you given to me the biggest and choicest oysters?’
‘Your Majesty always receives the best of everything,’ replied the butler, speaking in a high voice. ‘Have I done wrong?’
‘Today the Princess Mammalia must have the best,’ the King said. ‘She is the birthday girl. So kindly give her my plate and give me hers.’
‘At once, Your Majesty,’ answered the butler, and he hastened to change the plates round.
The birthday feast was a success and the oysters went down particularly well. ‘Do you like them, Papa?’ Princess Mammalia kept asking her father. ‘Are they not succulent?’
‘Mine are delicious,’ the King said. ‘How are yours?’
‘Perfect,’ she answered. ‘They are just perfect.’
That night Princess Mammalia was taken violently ill, and despite the ministrations of the royal physician, she succumbed to a terrible paroxysm that tied her beautiful body into knots.
The next morning the King took from his closet the long white false beard, the long white wig, the filthy rags and the old walking-stick. ‘You can burn these,’ he said to his valet. ‘We can’t have fancy-dress parties while the court is in mourning.’
ROALD DAHL
* * *
Roald Dahl was a spy, ace fighter pilot, chocolate historian and medical inventor. He was also the author of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Matilda, The BFG and many more brilliant stories. He remains the World’s No.1 storyteller.
CHARMING BAKER
* * *
Born in Hampshire in 1964, Charming Baker spent much of his early life travelling around the world following his father, a commando in the British Army. At the age of twelve, he and his family finally settled in Ripon, North Yorkshire. Baker left school at sixteen and worked in various manual jobs. In 1985, having gone back to college, he was accepted on to a course at the prestigious Central Saint Martins, where he later returned as a lecturer. After graduating, Baker worked for many years as a commercial artist as well as developing his personal work.
Solo exhibitions include the Truman Brewery, London, 2007, Redchurch Street Gallery, London, 2009, New York Studio Gallery, NYC, 2010, Mercer Street, London, 2011 and Milk Studios, LA, 2013. Baker has also exhibited with the Fine Art Society, collaborated with Sir Paul Smith for a sculpture entitled Triumph in the Face of Absurdity, which was displayed at the Victoria and Albert Museum, and continues to be committed to creating work to raise money for many charities. He has recently been commissioned to be a presenter on The Art Show. His work is in many international collections.
Although Baker has produced sculptural pieces in a wide and varied choice of materials, as well as many large-scale and detailed drawings, he remains primarily a painter with an interest in narrative and an understanding of the tradition of painting. Known to purposefully damage his work by drilling, cutting and even shooting it, Baker intentionally puts in to question the preciousness of art and the definition of its beauty, adding to the emotive charge of the work he produces. Indeed, Edward Lucie-Smith has described Baker’s paintings as having, ‘something more, a kind of romantic melancholy that is very British. And sometimes the melancholy turns out to have sharp claws. The pictures make you sit up and examine your conscience.’
Charming Baker lives and works in London.
CRUELTY
Tales of Malice and Greed
* * *
Even when we mean to be kind we can sometimes be cruel. We each have a streak of nastiness inside us. In these ten tales of cruelty Roald Dahl explores how and why it is we make others suffer.
Among others, you’ll read the story of two young bullies and the boy they torment, the adulterous wife who uncovers her husband’s secret, the man with a painting tattooed on his back whose value he doesn’t appreciate and the butler and chef who run rings around their obnoxious employer.
DECEPTION
Tales of Intrigue and Lies
* * *
Why do we lie? Why do we deceive those we love most? What do we fear revealing? In these ten tales of deception Roald Dahl explores our tireless efforts to hide the truth about ourselves.
Here, among many others you’ll read about how to get away with the perfect murder, the old man whose wagers end in a most disturbing payment, how revenge is sweeter when it is carried out by someone else and the card sharp so good at cheating he does something surprising with his life.
LUST
Tales of Craving and Desire
* * *
To what lengths would you go to achieve your heart’s desire? In these ten tales of maddening lust Roald Dahl explores how our darkest impulses reveal who we really are.
MADNESS
Tales of Fear and Unreason
* * *
Our greatest fear is of losing control – above all, of losing control of ourselves. In these ten unsettling tales of unexpected madness Roald Dahl explores what happens when we let go of our sanity.
Among other stories, you’ll meet the husband with a jealous fixation on the family cat, the landlady who wants her guests to stay for ever, the man whose taste for pork leads him astray and the wife with a pathological fear of being late.
FEAR
Tales of Terror and Suspense
* * *
Do you like feeling scared? Featuring fourteen classic spine-chilling stories chosen by Roald Dahl, these terrible tales will have you shivering as you turn the pages.
They include such timeless and haunting tales as Sheridan Le Fanu’s ‘The Ghost of a Hand’, Edith Wharton’s ‘Afterward’, Cynthia Asquith’s ‘The Corner Shop’ and Mary Treadgold’s ‘The Telephone’.
INNOCENCE
Tales of Youth and Guile
* * *
What makes us innocent and how do we come to lose it? Featuring the autobiographical stories telling of Roald Dahl’s boyhood and youth as well as four further tales of innocence betrayed, Dahl touches on the joys and horrors of growing up.