by Euan McAllen
The Chancellor held up his hand to silence the prince before he could get a word out. He had something to say which he knew the prince would want to hear. He knew exactly what the prince was thinking. Mozak sat enthralled as the man explained, and the offer was made. Prince Mozak could be Prince Regent.
‘You can rule in your father’s name, on his behalf, as Prince Regent.’
‘Rule? As king? While my father is still alive? Is that possible?’
The Chancellor was offended. Of course it is you fool. Do you think I’m just making this stuff up? I know my job. Do you know yours?
‘You don’t rule as king, only as his representative. Like I said, as Prince Regent.’
‘Do I get to wear the crown?’
‘No. No crown. You cannot be crowned - not until your father is dead.’
A cold shiver passed through the Chancellor even as he spoke those words, and likewise through the prince, but for another reason entirely.
‘But you get to wear the royal ring, and use the royal seal, to stamp legal documents. But first, here, you must sign this. This makes it all legal.’
The Chancellor produced the document and unrolled it across the table, using a candlestick and piece of pointless pottery to hold it open. Mozak looked at it - and truly wished he could read. Perhaps it was time to learn. No matter: he signed the document. He would sign anything right now if it put him in charge. Next he was handed the ring. He felt dizzy as he slipped it on to first one finger then another - the finger from which it could not slip.
‘Congratulations Sire,’ said the Chancellor as Mozak, now Prince Regent, put down the quill, dripping black ink across the table top.
He had just been called ‘sire’. That felt good, oh so good. The knee was feeling better already.
The Chancellor advised him to go back to bed and get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow would be a busy day. (This might well be the last piece of advice Mozak would take from the man.) Mozak tried his best to do as suggested but sleep proved impossible. Power was surging through his body now with nowhere to go. Come morning Mozak, the Prince Regent, would have some strong ideas about how to apply it.
***
Mozak was jolted awake by the realisation that his new day had dawned. He was shattered. He felt like he had only just nodded off. He wanted to lie in, but no, he was the Prince Regent now. He had to get himself out of bed and back into his head. So much to do.
He threw away his crutch. The Prince Regent could not be seen dead walking on a crutch. It would make him look ridiculous. Take the pain instead. He moved slowly towards the door, seeing how far he could push and punish his bad leg. It would have to be a slow pace - a slow majestic pace, head held up high. Speed set, he headed out of his room, determined to change the world (as he knew it) and immediately thought of his father’s private chambers. He would have them now. His father had no further use for them. He would make sure of that.
Like a toddler on his new tricycle he raced around inside his own head, issuing commands, wishing to do everything in one day. He demanded that a full inventory be taken of livestock, food supplies, cellar and staff - in fact everything of value inside the castle walls. It all belonged to him now and he wanted to know what he had. How many bottles of wine were there in the cellar? Was there enough meat to see him through the winter? How was he for cheese and flour, butter and milk, fruit and berries? Had staff been pilfering? Come to think of it, was there too many staff? He demanded a list - which the King’s Secretary duly supplied - and as he read through it he decided to sack a few of the servants, as an example to the rest; to make the point that he was no pushover. They may think me a nice guy but I’m no pushover, thought Mozak. He picked on those names he had never heard spoken. Rufus was missing from the list, which confused him. Then he remembered. Shame.
Cupboards had to be cleaned out, contents counted. Carpets had to scrubbed. Armour plating and cutlery had to be polished, swords sharpened. Tablecloths had to be washed. Floors had to be swept. Just about everything he pointed at had to be cleaned, or at the very least made dust free. Most of his orders would be ignored, for by the next day he would have forgotten what he had said. Such was his track record amongst staff.
He thought of Esmeralda and lost all sense of proportion. The poor girl’s mind had been poisoned by his wicked brother. Did she really want to live the life of a poor peasant, digging the dirt to grow potatoes, collecting horse shit, washing in the river? Here was a golden opportunity for her. Did she have the guts to take it? He wanted to know so he had her brought before him, much to the fury of his brother, and much to her consternation.
She stood before him in silence, giving no reaction when he announced his new title, his new position of power over his brother. She thought he had gone mad when he made her an offer she could not refuse. She just looked at him as if he was suffering from delusions - from some severe fever - and took pity. That made Mozak - the Prince Regent no less - very angry: he didn’t want the girl to mother him, to feel sorry for him; he wanted her to love him, to share his bed, to be his woman. And then Esmeralda made the mistake of saying what she thought, to his face - the worse place to say it.
‘Mozak, you’re mad.’
Mozak exploded. He ordered her to be locked up, in the tower: less as a punishment for her, more as a punishment for his terrible twin Tascho. Let Tascho suffer now. But even as he watched her being led away, sobbing, begging to be spared, he knew deep down that he had to let her go. He could scare her - and him - but he could never hurt her. He had to let her go: it was just a matter of when. Timing was everything, so his mother had told him once. Or was it his uncle? Or his tutor? Someone had said it, he was sure of it.
He pushed Esmeralda out of his mind with the reports he received from his diligent Secretary. His mother - his mad mother - was making trouble: declaring to all and sundry that her son was unfit for the job; that there had been an awful mistake; that she, the Dowager Queen, was the only one with the right to rule in the king’s name; and most offensive of all, that turning eighteen did not suddenly make him a man. The loyal Lord Fucho had reported that the woman had accosted him, tried to get him to hatch another plot!
Mozak the Prince Regent felt forced to act - at least that was the impression he gave. Secretly he was glad of an excuse to put her away, out of sight and out of mind. The tower was the obvious place and he had her incarcerated there. She could keep Esmeralda company. Or vice versa. And as she was led away under restraint by armed guards she kicked and spat, and demanded that they release her for if her son found out they would be hung by the neck. When it was pointed out to her that they were acting under his orders she began to scream obscenities, and then it became personal.
‘Just like your father! Your brother’s better than you! He should be here not you! You didn’t deserve to live!’
Luckily, for both of them, her scathing, cruel words did not reach the ear of the Prince Regent.
After recovering from the ordeal of two women who had the power to stir his emotions and leave him senseless, Mozak ordered the Royal Doctor to be brought before him: total secrecy being the operative word for in private, away from prying ears, the nervous doctor was told that if he wanted to continue practicing medicine in the kingdom then he was not to sign off the king’s sick note - not without the permission of him, the Prince Regent. His father must remain in the Infirmary, under constant care and supervision, but he must never get better.
‘For how long?’ asked the bemused doctor. Forever?
‘For as long as needs be,’ said Mozak.
Before taking his leave the doctor felt compelled to ask another question. He did not like loose ends.
‘And what about his mother, your grandmother?’
‘She stays there as well, definitely forever. And don’t you ever refer to her as my grandmother again. You understand me?’
‘I understand.’
‘I understand, Sire.’
‘I understand, Sire.’
The Royal Doctor retreated quickly. The whole royal family was nuts. They were one big fruit cake. Still, at least it kept him in a well-paid job where no one would dare question his skill or judgement, or knowledge (much of it made up): a job with free lodgings thrown in, and staff to take care of domestic chores. It was a job to kill for. (And once, as a young ambitious man, he nearly had.)
In the afternoon, needing relief, Mozak went out riding to view his kingdom, armed escort in tow. He passed by the cottage, deciding at the last moment not to stop and say hello: the Prince Regent did not gloat over the misfortunes of his kin; such things were beneath him. (More to the point he did not think his twin brother would show him due respect. And he wanted him gone, not locked up in the tower with Esmeralda!) He rode on, along the outer wall of the Maze, mesmerised by it; wondering if he could have another adventure inside it again; wondering if he would ever get to see the Inside, that place where Tascho had sprung from.
Tired, he was forced to turn back - giving the Infirmary a wide berth - but not before he had made himself a promise: his uncle and brother had to be gone, tomorrow; they could not hang around, disturbing his peace. And yes, he admitted to himself, he would let Esmeralda go; at the last minute; to teach her a good lesson and to torment his brother. The thought of women raised the question of a wife. Who to marry? Lady Agnes or Lady Jane? Who was better in bed? He had to find out.
He returned to the Castle exhausted and collapsed on his bed only to wake an hour later, when his body was making it clear to him that it needed sex. He called for Lady Agnes and put a direct, blunt question: prove to me that you deserve to be my wife. She jumped at the chance and was more than happy to service his needs. And she served them well. Afterwards, after he was done with her, he was done with her and sent her away, turning to the bottle for company. Slow down, he told himself: if every day is like this you will burn yourself out, worse still go mad. He did not want to go mad. So who to marry? Lady Agnes or Lady Jane? Esmeralda was out of the question. Who was better in bed? He still didn’t know. Was there a better way to choose? That night Mozak the Prince Regent got seriously wasted. He was out of control, alone, without a friend, without a woman.
Like all the others inside the castle walls that night he had no idea that a storm was coming - and he would be one of the last to find out about it as trying to persuade him to wake up would prove extremely difficult.
***
Come dawn there was revolution in the air. Peasants gathered at the gates of the castle, sneaking up from out of the darkness, taking position to await orders like a well-trained army. They were hungry but they had always been hungry. They were angry but they had always been angry. They were organised. They had never been organised before. They had the look of those with nothing to lose - but not much to gain. Some were properly armed. The rest just carried tools of the trade. And in varying degrees they wore a common uniform: the uniform of black. Some wore a long black robe, which in turn gave them authority over others. Ultimate authority rested with just one man: Elder Brother Fargo. He was the man with the mission and the means.
The Dowager Queen was the first to witness the peasant mob. And then the penny dropped. Terrified, she shook Esmeralda awake so hard the girl nearly fell to the floor.
‘What woman!’
‘Look girl! All those peasants out there! With the heads of pigs on poles! They’ve come for him! But he’s not here so they’ll take me! What am I going to do?!’
Esmeralda looked out of the window and tried to calm her - and herself.
‘I don’t know. But this is probably the safest place to be right now.’
Unconvinced, the queen sat down on the bed and began to sob. Esmeralda sat down next to her and held her hand. Her prince would save her. Not long after this the news of the mob burst in on the inhabitants of the castle.
Mozak was in a dream: the three wise men - the three bad men - were haunting him, taunting him, tugging at his soul, like he had done something wrong. Then he realised he was awake. The King’s Secretary, Chancellor and Banker were all standing over him and looking very worried.
‘We have a problem.’
‘Never a problem like this before.’
‘Serious trouble.’
‘Peasants. Lots of them. All armed to the teeth.’
‘And looking mean, very mean, very angry.’
‘No one is allowed to leave.’
‘We are under siege.’
Mozak’s initial reaction was to try to hide under his bed sheet. What were they expecting him to do about it? Then he remembered: he was the one in charge. He had to come up with something fast.
‘Well just send them away.’
For that he received a combined look which said - shouted - only one thing: stupid!
‘They refuse to disperse. Their leader has a list of demands. He demands to speak to the king.’
‘Do they want money?’
‘No money has been mentioned,’ said the Banker. ‘And if it was, we should not cave in to financial extortion. It would set a precedent.’
‘Helmotti has offered to intervene, to negotiate. He knows this man.’
Mozak, now back in full Prince Regent mode, refused. ‘This is my fight.’
And with that - and a show of intent - he got out of bed.
‘Let me get dressed. I’ll speak to him. I’ll take care of things.’
The three wise men retreated, unconvinced. Helmotti should be in charge: that was the common thought.
Wishing to make a point, Mozak walked out alone through the main gate to engage with the leader of the ugly, dirty, nasty little peasants; to vent his fury on the man who dared to oppose the authority of the king. He saw the pig heads stuck on poles. I’ll have their heads on poles, he promised. His fury overcame the pain in his knee. At first he did not recognise the stranger in the long black robe. But then, a monk! That mad monk Fargo! The man had changed, beyond belief - which was all he had these days. Fargo was emaciated, as thin as a rake, but looked far more alive now than when Mozak had last seen him. The fire of madness burned in his eyes - a madness which seemed to spill out whenever he spoke. Fargo hissed at Mozak as he demanded to see the king. A prince would not do.
‘Where is the king? Is he too much of a coward to face me?’
Mozak hissed back. ‘He’s not available right now. I am the Prince Regent. You speak to him through me, only me.’
Mozak liked the sound of his own voice. Fargo did not.
‘So be it. I will starve him until he is prepared to talk.’
‘Talk? Talk about what?’
‘The rights of the workers, the workers who bring wealth to this kingdom.’
Having started, he went on, into a rambling, pre-prepared discourse: the royal family was to be no more. They were not fit to rule. No one had the right to rule the people except the people. The people would elect a fixed term government using a process of democratic voting: one vote per male adult over the age of twenty-one. As Fargo spoke the peasants jostled for position to hear his speech, not sure what it all meant but sure it would improve their lives for their leader had promised many times that it would be so.
Mozak was not impressed. ‘What nonsense is all this? I’ve had enough.’
And with that he decided talking was done but just before he turned away he had to ask, why the black?
Fargo was scathing. ‘Black represents the state of our lives - our empty, Godless, unfulfilled lives.’
Not mine! thought Mozak. Not mine!
‘Until conditions improve - in both mind and body - we remain black.’
You should meet my mother, thought Mozak and as he walked away Fargo shouted his threats.
‘I will starve him out! He will come crawling to me on his knees!’
‘Fuck off you mad monk!’
‘I’ll have you all eating rats!’
Mozak stuck up two fingers and disappeared back inside, determined to make a stand. He would scatter these peasants and teach the mad monk a lesson he would never forget. He would send him fleeing back into the Maze, and the peasants back on to the land where they belonged.
***
Fighting off questions from all sides, Mozak went and sat on the throne, doing his best to look, act and think like the man in charge. Helmotti watched him in silence, less concerned with what was happening outside, more concerned with what was happening inside Mozak’s head. The three wise men watched his every move. The Royal Librarian watched him. The Royal Tutor watched him. Even the Royal Broom Keeper watched him. He had already said the obvious: that soldiers had to be mustered from those neighbouring estates obliged to supply the king in times of war. But how? He was stuck in a long pause and everyone was watching and waiting - much like the peasants outside.
‘How long can we hold out?’
‘Two or three weeks?’ suggested the King’s Secretary. ‘Water is the problem.’
The Chancellor corrected him. ‘A month if we introduce strict rationing, right now.’
‘You expect me to live on rations?’
‘The Prince Regent should set an example.’
‘Else there would be a lot of bad feeling.’
The thought horrified Mozak. He wanted action.
‘We have to break out. We have to get relief now. Then we scatter these rogues, round a few up and hang them by their necks as an example.’
No more talk, said Mozak. Round up the castle guard and make preparations, he said. He would lead the charge for he was the Prince Regent - a dashing, fearless warrior. Helmotti offered to go in his place and was fiercely rebuked. He could join the attack but not lead it. There was only space for one hero.