‘You’ll be fine,’ she assured him.
‘I hope so,’ he said, dismally.
He leaned down from the seat and gave his wife a
tender kiss.
‘If anything bad should happen, you’ll find a farewell
letter in my props room.’
‘It won’t come to that,’ she assured him. ‘King Cletus
is going to love you. I know he is. Now get going; you
don’t want to keep him waiting, do you?’
Alexander shook his head. He flicked the reins and
we set off along the road to Jerebim, both of us aware
that today’s performance would either make or break
Alexander in his chosen career.
After an uneventful journey, we found ourselves
moving through the bustling streets and narrow thoroughfares of Jerebim and, as we went, I could hear
Alexander going over and over his material, as though
terrified that he might forget something.
‘Relax,’ I told him. ‘If you make yourself too nervous,
you’re more likely to get something wrong. Just imagine
you’re outside a rowdy tavern in some little market
town.’
‘That’s easily said,’ he moaned, ‘but not so easily
done.’
At length, the huge stone walls of the King’s palace
reared up before us and we made our way to the main
entrance, where a couple of heavily armed guards
regarded us suspiciously; but, when Alexander
produced the parchment with the King’s seal, they
stood aside and called for the gates to be opened. We passed through into a scene of much excitement.
A large stage, decorated with brightly coloured silk
flags, had been erected in the palace grounds and rows
of wooden seats had been arranged in front of it. In
the very front row stood a magnificent throne, decorated with gold leaf and carved figures, and we
instantly knew that this was where King Cletus would
be sitting, almost close enough to reach out and grab
my master ’s leg if he chose to. Beside the throne sat
a smaller child-sized version, which I knew must be
for the King’s teenage son, Daniel.
This was the point where I would normally be
singing my introduction but, as yet, there was no audience in sight, so we decided to keep it for later. A
couple of attendants instructed me to guide the wagon
around to the side of the stage, so that my master
could unpack his props. He did so, where we found
the two support acts, a juggler and a tumbler, already
preparing themselves for the performance. As was his
way, Alexander chatted to the two men and wished them luck; but, as he set about unpacking his props, I could tell that he was far from happy with the
proceedings.
‘What about your song?’ he muttered. ‘It’s part of
the act now. I don’t like leaving it out.’
‘Perhaps I could sing it from down here?’ I suggested. ‘Yes, but then the audience won’t see you. That’s
what makes it so funny, when they see this wonderful
song coming from the mouth of a buffalope.’ ‘What’s so funny about that?’ I asked, but he ignored
the question.
He looked thoughtfully at the short flight of wooden
steps leading up to the stage.
‘Do you think you could get up those, Max?’ he
asked me. ‘Then you could sing the song standing
beside me, while I accompanied you on the mandolin.’ I snuffled.
‘No problem, Master. It’s but one small step for a
buffalope, one giant leap for buffalope-kind.’ I thought for a moment and then I had a brainwave.
‘Master, I have a better idea! We shall walk out onto
the stage with you playing the mandolin and I singing
as you ride upon my back. Can you imagine what a
showstopper that would be?’
Alexander frowned.
‘It does sound good,’ he admitted. ‘But we’ve never
tried that before; we’d better rehearse it.’
I was just nodding my head in agreement when a
figure appeared from around the front of the stage. It
was Lord Frobisher, striding forward in his imperious
purple cloak.
‘Ah good, you’re all here!’ he observed, which struck
me as a rather stupid remark, but I didn’t comment
on it. ‘Is everything in readiness?’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ said Alexander. ‘We were just going
to try a quick . . .’
‘Never mind!’ Lord Frobisher waved a hand impatiently. ‘The Lord and Ladies of the Royal Court are
about to take their seats.’
He surveyed the three performers sternly. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that, as organiser
of this occasion, my reputation is on the line. I would
therefore suggest that all three of you perform to your
very best ability. Do that and there’ll be an extra gold
crown for each of you.’
‘Thank you very much, my Lord,‘ I said and he gave
me a quizzical look.
‘I don’t think he was including you,’ whispered
Alexander. ‘Your Lordship, if I could just ask that we
be allowed to . . .’
But then there was a loud fanfare of trumpets and Lord Frobisher turned away with a swish of his cape and disappeared around the front of the stage. We heard a rising hubbub of voices as the guests appeared from within the palace and took their seats. Alexander
shook his head.
‘Too late to rehearse it now,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we
should forget the new idea.’
‘Are you kidding?’ I cried. ‘It’ll be stupendous. Don’t
worry, we’ll just busk it. After all, it’s a simple idea;
what can possibly go wrong?’
Once again, the trumpets sounded, a great blasting
fanfare that announced the arrival of somebody of great
importance. Alexander ran up the steps to the curtains
at the side of the stage and peeped out.
‘It’s the King,’ he called down to me. ‘He’s taking
his seat on the throne.’
‘How does he look?’ I asked hopefully.
‘A bit grim, to tell you the truth. He doesn’t look
the sort to suffer fools gladly.’
‘We’ll be fine,’ I assured him.
‘Now the murmuring of the crowd settled down
and we heard Lord Frobisher ’s voice speaking out in
a loud and clear tone.
‘Your esteemed Majesty, welcome to this, your special
birthday entertainment, organised by your most loyal
and abject servant, that is to say, my good self, Lord Quentin Frobisher. Without further ado, may I announce for your pleasure, the finest juggler in the land, Mr
Andy Dextrous!’
And with that, Mr Dextrous, a short and rather
plump little man with a bald head and a pronounced
gap in his teeth, came striding out from the wings
juggling eight gallock eggs as he did so. After a short
interval, we heard polite applause, but Alexander, still
peeping through the curtains did not seem to be reassured.
‘The King looks bored,’ he told me. ‘He barely
clapped for that trick. He looks like he’d rather be
somewhere else.’
And so it continued all through Mr Dextrous’s act.
At length, he came off stage, sweating copiously and
>
looking none too happy.
‘Tricky crowd, that,’ he told us as he went past. Alexander gave me a doubtful look and I did my
best to reassure him, even though I was feeling far
from confident myself.
Next, Lord Frobisher ’s voice announced Thomas
Trimble, the tumbler, and Mr Trimble walked onto the
stage balanced atop a large round ball. He then
proceeded to put himself through a series of leaps,
twists and bodily contortions that suggested his limbs
were made of rope. By now, I could not contain my own curiosity and I climbed the steps in order to peek
through the curtains myself.
There was Thomas, giving it everything he’d got,
and there was the audience, clapping politely at his
every move, and there was King Cletus, a tall, thin
man with a sallow face and prematurely grey beard,
looking as though he was attending a séance. His thin
mouth was permanently down-turned and, though he
clapped when all the others did, it was completely
without enthusiasm.
If the King looked fed up, the boy sitting beside him
looked positively suicidal. He was stick-thin, pale, and
the face that peered out from a curtain of lank, black
hair looked as miserable as a wet weekend in the village
of Glumm.
‘The King’s son doesn’t exactly look a laugh riot,’ I
observed.
‘Daniel the Doleful, they call him,’ muttered
Alexander. ‘Apparently he never got over the death of
his Mother.’
‘He’ll probably appreciate a good laugh then,’ I
said.
Alexander just shook his head.
‘We’re doomed,’ he muttered. ‘Do you think anybody
will notice if we just sneak out of here?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ I told him, trying to keep the tone of rising desperation out of my voice. ‘It’s going
to be brilliant. You’ll see.’
But then I saw Thomas Trimble’s frustrated expression as he came off stage, balancing a table, a chair, a
candlestick and a bread roll on various parts of his
anatomy.
‘Good luck,’ he told us as he went by. ‘You’re going
to need it.’
I heard Alexander take a sharp intake of breath and
I tried to look casual – not an easy expression for a
buffalope, but I did my best. Alexander ran to get his
mandolin and then vaulted up onto my back. I stood
there waiting, then heard a rather worried-sounding
Lord Frobisher making his final announcement. ‘And now, your Majesty, it’s time for er . . . a little
laughter. It is with great pride that I announce the star
of this afternoon’s performance, who, I’m sure, will
. . . will lift your spirits. I give you the Master of Mirth,
the Lord of Laughter, the High Priest of Hilarity. Fresh
from his triumphs across the known world, a big
welcome please to . . . Alexander Darke: Prince Of
Fools!’
Chapter 20
On With The Show!
The ‘big welcome’ turned out to be a half-hearted ripple of applause. They didn’t exactly put themselves out.
Alexander struck the opening chord on his mandolin and I launched into my song, whilst striding purposefully forward onto the stage.
‘Lads and lasses, Lords and ladies!
Gather round and hear my – whoaaaaahhhhhhh!’ Personally, I blame the carpenters. In their desire to please the King, they had sanded and polished the wooden boards to perfection. To a hard-hooved creature like myself, it was akin to stepping out onto the surface of a frozen lake. My feet could get no purchase and, because I had launched myself forward with such gusto, I found myself skidding uncontrollably across the stage.
I tried desperately to back pedal my rear legs in an attempt to slow myself down, but this simply had the effect of spinning me around. I heard Alexander yelling at me to stop, but he might as well have asked me to grab the wind and knit it into a fine bonnet for his wife.
As I span, I caught a glimpse of the audience’s faces, moving from left to right across my vision, each one frozen in a look of astonishment.
Oh well , I thought, at least it can’t get much worse. Then one of my horns snagged in a line of bunting, pulling it tight. Unfortunately, the bunting was attached to a large piece of scenery, which pulled free from its moorings and came crashing down on top of my master ’s head. The canvas ripped and fell around his head and shoulders, jerking him backwards off me and leaving him hanging several feet above the stage, his thin legs pedalling furiously.
As I swung around to look back at him, I started trying to run towards him, but could only manage to run on the spot like a lunatic, and then my rear end collided with another piece of scenery at the far side of the stage. The canvas was pushed backwards for quite a distance and I fully expected it to rip and send me flailing backwards off the edge of the stage. But it must have been made of strong stuff, because it suddenly snapped back again, sending me whizzing towards Alexander. Unhappily, the tips of my horns caught in the legs of his trousers, wrenching him headlong out of the backdrop and depositing him face down on my back, his head virtually jammed up my rear end.
But now, at least, my trajectory was slowing and I thought that there might be some chance of rescuing the situation. I carefully repositioned myself to face the crowds and started to sing again.
‘Lads and Lasses, Lords and Ladies Gather round and hear my song. . .’ I was somewhat perturbed as I sang to hear a strange accompaniment. Not the mandolin that I was used to, but a series of strange creaks and groans. I was dimly aware of my master, scrambling around on my back in a very undignified way, as he tried to position himself facing the crowd. By some miracle, he had managed to hang onto the mandolin, and he struck a chord, but the recent events had served to put it horribly out of tune and what emerged sounded like some panther that had had its tail slammed in a door.
I tried to continue nonetheless, now even more aware of that strange creaking sound. Jokes and riddles, comic capers Are my master’s ready tools. Come and see him, long to be him The one and only Prince Of . . .
And that’s when the stage collapsed beneath me and sent me plunging into a ragged hole. I fell a short distance and then my feet thudded onto the ground beneath the stage, leaving just my head and the top of my back still sticking up from the hole. The impact of my landing made Alexander bounce up into the air. He came down hard and tipped backwards. The mandolin went flying out of his grasp, his legs flew up and there was a ripping sound as his tight trousers tore asunder. The high and mighty audience was then treated to an unfamiliar sight; my master ’s bare bottom.
There was a collective gasp of horror and then, mercifully, Alexander tipped sideways and rolled off my back. He hit the wooden boards and lay there gasping for breath. I stared in mute horror at the faces of the audience; in fact, I had no choice in the matter, because I was wedged in position. A silence settled, so deep, so intense that I could hear Alexander ’s ragged breathing as he fought to control his mounting terror.
In that moment, I felt terrible. It had all gone hideously wrong and there was nobody to blame but myself.
And then, most unexpected of all, I heard the sound of laughter.
I looked down in astonishment to see that it was coming from King Cletus. The formally dour monarch was pointing at the stage and laughing as though he was about to bust a gut, laughing so hard that the tears were literally streaming down his face. Beside him, Daniel looked as miserable as ever and was staring at his father with a bemused expression on his pale face.
King Cletus made a valiant attempt to recover
himself, but failed. He spluttered, chortled, then threw his head back and howled.
The members of the Royal Court turned to look at him in surprise; then, as they began to see that he was genuinely amused by what he had just seen, they began to join in with him, first just one or two, then more and more until, at last, the whole crowd, with the single exception of young Daniel, was roaring with laughter.
Amazed, Alexander got back to his feet, holding his torn trousers together with one hand and looking down at his audience in bewilderment. Now the King was applauding like crazy, slapping his hands together so hard, I feared that he would damage them.
‘Bravo!’ he roared. ‘Master Jester that was the funniest thing I ever saw! The way you orchestrated all that chaos. Incredible! Lord Frobisher, where on earth did you find them?’
Lord Frobisher was on his feet now, bowing obsequiously and basking in the warmth of the King’s praise.
‘My Liege, I caught their act a short while ago and hoped they would be to your taste, but . . .’
‘To my taste! They are superb. I haven’t had such a laugh in years. Such wild abandon, such incredible timing. I want them to perform for me often!’
Now Alexander was trying to pull me up out of the hole, whilst desperately shielding his bare buttocks from the audience. My frantic attempts to lever myself back out on to the stage seemed to start the King laughing all over again and this, in turn, started the others laughing, until the courtyard was echoing to the sounds of hilarity.
I finally managed to get myself out onto some strong floorboards and Alexander and I took several bows, before picking our way across the wrecked stage to the safety of the wings. We were forced to return for several more bows before the noise finally subsided. * * *
When Lord Frobisher found his way to us at the side of the stage, Alexander was in the caravan, slipping on a spare pair of trousers. I called him out and he came and stood in the doorway.
Lord Frobisher bowed to Alexander and he couldn’t seem to stop smiling.
‘Mr Darke, I must confess I’m astounded. I had expected to see the act that I saw in Glumm the other day, which was certainly comical enough, but this performance surpassed all expectation. How on earth did you know that his Majesty was so fond of physical comedy?’
Alexander grinned wildly.
‘Oh, it’s common knowledge, is it not? I’m sure I must have heard it somewhere.’
He glanced at me, as though seeking help on the matter.
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