by Andy Coffey
***
Ophelia’s parties were always one of the highlights of the social calendar, and anyone who was anyone just had to attend. To not be invited was construed by some as tantamount to being ostracised from society. Only last year, Lady Monica Slackpants, who failed to make the cut for Ophelia’s birthday party, was so distraught that she dyed her hair maroon, became an persistent clog-wearer and announced that she was taking on a new career as a speech therapist for disadvantaged budgies.
‘Hello, oh, I do hope we’re not too early. Bless my clacky hooves, I don’t think I’ve been so excited for years.’
‘Of course you’re not too early, Charles, please come in. And you too, Cliff,’ Ophelia said, with a warm smile. ‘I see you’ve brought your trumpet, how splendid. Now, promise me that you’ll not have too much to drink before you play for us later. I still remember last year when you lost your balance trying to reach that high note after several glasses of Roisin’s special cider.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Charles, ‘that was embarrassing. But at least I had the pleasure of you and Mara catching me!’
Upstairs, in Ophelia’s royal bedroom, Mr Ping and Mr Pong were busy puffing cushions, under Roisin’s watchful eye. ‘I didn’t realise that Feng Shui involved so much cushion-puffing,’ she said, still feeling very unsure of the odd pair.
‘My dear lady, gratuitous cushion-puffing is a vital part of the preparation process for any successful Feng Shui exercise,’ said Mr Ping.
‘Indeed,’ added Mr Pong, ‘we have forged our career and reputation by the level and quality of our puffing.’
‘But aren’t you suppose to place things strategically to generate positive Qi?’ she asked.
‘Of course, the essence of Qi is channelled through the puffing of the cushions,’ said Mr Ping. ‘But, now we have puffed enough and it is time to embark on the serious matter of furniture placement. Mr Pong, please pass me that small ottoman.’
Mr Pong picked up a pink ottoman at the end of Ophelia’s luxurious bed and handed it to Mr Ping, who stared up into the air and began to turn his head in a circling motion. ‘Ah, I can feel it now. The Qi is strong over here,’ he said, placing the ottoman by the window. ‘Can you feel the Qi, Mr Pong?’
‘It’s making my toes curl as you speak. I can feel it going up my trousers.’
‘Well, I’ll leave you gentlemen to it for a while,’ said Roisin. ‘The Queen is expecting guests this evening and I should really make an appearance. I’ll come and check on your progress shortly.’
And with that she exited the room and made her way downstairs to the party. ‘Thank goodness she’s gone,’ said Nob. ‘She’s a nosey one.’
‘Indeed,’ said Hob. ‘But once again, our superior thespian skills and improvisational abilities have allowed us to successfully perpetuate our masquerade.’
There was a knock on the bedroom door and Hob and Nob looked at each other with alarm. ‘Come in,’ said Mr Ping.
‘Pardon me, my good sirs, but this letter has just arrived for you,’ said Jarvis, holding out the sealed envelope.
‘Ah, er, that will no doubt be from our agent, informing us of our next engagement. Thank you so much,’ Mr Ping said, as he took the letter from Jarvis.
‘Who on earth would be sending us a letter?’ Nob said. ‘Nobody even knows we are here.’
‘It’s from the Baron,’ Hob replied, unfolding the letter and reading its contents. ‘It would seem there is to be a slight change of plan.’
Downstairs, Charles Corriedale was indulging in two of his favourite pastimes; drinking cider and talking music. ‘Of course, I’ll be playing with the OSO in the tournament,’ he said, with a glass of cider between his hooves. ‘But I would like to say that I’ll still be cheering you fellows on. I’m actually quite a fan.’
‘Are you really?’ said Grundi. ‘I wouldn’t have thought our style of music would be your thing at all.’
‘Nothing could be further from the truth,’ Charles said, between hiccups. ‘I adore the power and the passion of your songs. In fact, the musicality and compositional structure isn’t that far removed from classical music. I tell you, I’ve had quite a few evenings when I’ve just let my fleece down and rocked out. Isn’t that right, Cliff?’
‘Hah, my uncle speaks the truth,’ Cliff said. ‘I have borne witness to his uncommonly accurate air guitar playing. However, he shouldn’t bang his head so much now that his years are advancing.’
‘Fiddlesticks!’ Charles retorted, to the laughter of Grundi, Smid and Aiden. ‘You’re as young as you feel. Or as young as the ewe you are feeling,’ he added with a wink.
‘Uncle, you are incorrigible,’ Cliff said, smiling.
‘Oh, yes. I do hope so, my nephew. I do hope so!’
As Charles wandered off in search of another drink, Cliff watched him and shook his head. ‘You know he really is one of a kind.’
‘Absolutely,’ Grundi agreed. ‘You obviously love him very much.’
‘More than my own life, Grundi; I’d do anything to protect that old sheep.’
Vindy and Tikky were given a starring role on a table in the middle of the ballroom, but far enough away from the buffet to avoid confusion. ‘Would you two like anything?’ Ophelia said.
‘I think I could go for a little lime juice, thank you,’ Vindy said, chuckling. ‘Not too much, though, it goes straight to my beef these days.’
‘Just a touch of pineapple juice for me, please, my dear. If Vindy’s going on the lime I better make sure I keep my wits about me in case he starts trying to dance again,’ Tikky said.
‘What do you mean “trying to dance”? I seem to remember that at the last party we attended I was being praised for my “twirling plate boogie”!’
‘Yes, dear, that’s true. And then Harold had to intervene before you nearly fell off the table after attempting that pirouette.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Vindy admitted, ‘but it would have looked spectacular if I hadn’t have bumped into that large pepper pot.’
The party was now in full swing and Aiden had been introduced to that many people that names were no longer sticking in his memory. He had also met the faeries from Ophelia’s aerobics class, who had all flirted with him outrageously, much to Mara’s chagrin.
‘Are all faeries as beautiful as this?’ he’d said to Cracky, who had been smirking away at him in the corner of the room, talking to Mr Kneepatcher.
‘Well put it this way,’ Cracky had said. ‘I’ve never met one yet that didn’t make my knees turn to jelly with a smile.’
In Ophelia’s bedroom, Hob and Nob were peering at the contents of the open briefcase. ‘I wouldn’t recommend that one,’ said Nob.
‘Why not?’
‘It’s Yellow Nostrilflarer. It does indeed render a victim immobile, but the common side-effect of increasing the size of the nostrils fivefold can take days to wear off.’
‘I see,’ said Hob. ‘What we need is just a simple tranquilizer cheese that will put a faerie under for, say, two hours. The Baron is sending us a swift carriage so the dose must not be too great.’
‘Aha,’ Nob said, picking up a small cube, wrapped in pink paper. ‘This is what I was looking for. This is Pink Sleepybobos and it has never been known to have any adverse side effects. A couple of crumbs of this in her drink and she’ll be out like a light.’
‘Perfect,’ Hob said, as Roisin knocked on the door. ‘Come in,’ he said, closing the briefcase, as Nob put the small cube of cheese in his pocket.
‘I just thought I’d check and see how you are getting on,’ Roisin said.
‘My dear lady, we are making excellent progress, but we have hit a stumbling block,’ said Hob.
‘What kind of stumbling block?’
Mr Ping put his hand to his head, feigning exasperation. Mr Pong followed suit. ‘We will need to complete an incantation for the carpet here,’ Mr Ping said, pointing at a lush, pink rug near the window. ‘We fear it has been subject to undue negative Qi for a co
nsiderable period of time, possibly influenced by that particularly recalcitrant chest of drawers. But we will need assistance from the Queen. For we are certain that only her royal and calming nature, amplifying the words we need to speak, will facilitate a successful operation. Would you be so kind as to ask her to join us, if she is free?’
‘Does it have to be now?’ Roisin said. ‘She is in the middle of hosting an important party.’
Hob approached Roisin and adopted the most earnest façade he could muster. ‘My dear Roisin, if I may be allowed to call you by name. The stars are aligned at this very moment and I fear that if we delay, this poor carpet could become a permanent victim of “insensitive chest of drawers syndrome”. This is a particularly odious negative energy that can cause fraying at the edges and underlay exposure. I have seen it before and it is best to be preventive in these situations.’
‘Preventive,’ echoed Mr Pong.
‘Okay,’ Roisin said, reluctantly. ‘I’ll go and ask her if she can spare you a few minutes and then I’ll bring her up.’
Mr Ping shared a quick glance with Mr Pong and they both shook their heads in unison. ‘It would be better for the incantation if only the Queen attended,’ Mr Ping said. ‘The balance we must strike is quite delicate and we must ensure that the flow of Qi is well controlled, else the situation could exacerbate.’
‘Indeed,’ said Mr Pong. ‘We not only wish for a successful outcome, but neither I nor Mr Ping wish to be known as people who exacerbate unnecessarily.’
‘Very well,’ Roisin said, ‘I’ll go and speak to her.’
Ophelia was feeling a tad tipsy. She was sat on Olaf’s knee having an in-depth conversation with Mr Kneepatcher about cravats. ‘Of course you’ve got to tie them right,’ said Mr Kneepatcher. ‘Otherwise you just don’t get the effect.’
‘Do you think Olaf would suit a cravat?’ she asked, in a slightly slurred voice.
‘Oh, darling, he’d look wonderful!’ Mr Kneepatcher gushed. ‘I’ve got a beautiful blue one in stock that would set his eyes off perfectly. I’ll bring it around tomorrow.’
‘Thanks, but I may give it a miss,’ Olaf said.
‘Ophy, the two Feng Shui gentlemen have asked if you can pop upstairs for a minute to help them with an incantation or something,’ Roisin said, sitting down next to Olaf.
‘Will it take long, do you know? Charles is due to play at any minute and we may need to catch him again!’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so. But they insist on seeing you alone,’
Olaf shifted in his seat uncomfortably. ‘Are these “gentlemen” trustworthy, Roisin?’
‘They seem harmless enough, even if they are a bit odd,’ she replied.
‘Oh, I’ll be fine, Olaf,’ Ophelia said, nearly falling over when she got up off his knee. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’
Cracky and Oldfart watched as Ophelia staggered up the heavily-carpeted grand staircase, both of them poised to catch her if she fell backwards. ‘By the way, where are Theo and the cats?’ Oldfart asked Cracky, once Ophelia had safely reached the top of the stairs.
‘They stayed back at the Diner. Even though he revealed himself to us today, he still wants to stay behind the scenes for the time being.’
Ophelia managed to successfully navigate her way down the long corridor to the royal bedroom, using the walls for balance on several occasions. She placed her half-full glass of champagne delicately on to the carpet outside the door, telling it to ‘shush’ as she placed a finger in front of her mouth. ‘Yoo hoo,’ she said in a high pitched voice, as she leaned against the bedroom door. ‘I believe you gentlemen wish to see me.’
Mr Pong opened the door and the Queen fell through and landed at the feet of Mr Ping. ‘Well, hello there, how can I be of service,’ she said, giggling, as Mr Ping helped her to her feet.
‘Your Majesty, thank you for agreeing to see us,’ Mr Ping said. ‘We are sorry to have to drag you away from your party, but this matter is most urgent.’
‘Most urgent,’ agreed Mr Pong.
‘We are required to perform an incantation to save this beautiful carpet of yours,’ Mr Ping continued, pointing at the large pink rug near the window. ‘We require you to simply stand on the rug and think positive thoughts.’
‘That all? Shouldn’t be too hard,’ Ophelia said, swaying.
‘But first, we must drink this sacred water that Mr Pong has prepared. It will provide balance for our bodies and souls,’ he said, passing a goblet of water to the Queen.
‘Oh, I could definitely do with something to help my balance at the moment!’ Ophelia giggled, as she eventually took the goblet off Mr Ping at the third attempt.
She drank deeply and dropped the goblet unceremoniously on the floor. ‘Oops, sorry. Now shall we all sing this incant-, incatash… song of yours…?’
And then her eyes began to close and she fell into the arms of Mr Pong, who was standing behind her. ‘Simplicity itself, my good Nob,’ Hob said, rubbing his hands.
‘How do we get her out of the palace?’ Nob asked, laying the Queen on the pink rug.
‘Oh, I already have a plan for that,’ said Hob. ‘Now, roll her up into the carpet and let’s be on our way. We will exit via the stairs used by the servants, and hopefully we’ll encounter one as we leave.’
‘You want us to be seen?’ Nob said, with surprise.
‘Indeed, I am counting on it.’
The plush, pink rug was easily big enough to accommodate Ophelia’s tiny frame completely, and Hob and Nob had little trouble carrying it down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Jarvis was drinking a cup of tea. ‘Oh, hello sirs, is everything alright?’ he asked.
‘Ah, Jarvis, I’m glad we caught you,’ Mr Ping said, feigning relief. ‘We have just come from the royal bedroom, where Her Majesty has now taken to her rest. She asked us to pass on a message that she is very weary, but that the party should continue in her absence. She also requested that she is not disturbed until morning.’
‘Has Her Majesty perhaps had a little too much champagne?’ Jarvis said, with a smile.
‘Indeed,’ replied Mr Pong. ‘She has also asked us to help this carpet here by providing our special “Moonlit Feng Shui” treatment. We fear it has been subject to negative forces and, if not dealt with appropriately, may begin to infest other furnishings in the palace.’
As if on cue, the rug let out a small groan. ‘See it begins already.’ Mr Ping said, shaking his head.
A shocked Jarvis ran to the back door and slid open the bolts. ‘Thank you,’ said Mr Pong, as Jarvis opened the door. ‘I just hope we’ve not left it too late. We will return, hopefully, within the hour.’
‘Good luck, sirs. May the gods be with you,’ Jarvis said, as Mr Ping and Mr Pong headed out into the night.
At the end of the dark lane behind the palace, a black carriage was silhouetted in the moonlight and enveloped in silence, save for the occasional snorting of its horses. As Hob and Nob approached, one of the doors swung open.
‘Do you have the “cargo”?’ Pimple said.
‘Let us just say that we do not think the Baron will be displeased,’ Hob replied, as they climbed inside with the carpet.
‘Driver!’ shouted Pimple, and the carriage pulled away at speed.