“There you are, then,” said Daphne, picking up the lamp. “It’s still here!”
Mau sat with one of the Judy’s charts on his knees. This was, officially, a meeting of the island council, or would have been if anything on the island was official. Anyone could come, and because anyone could, many didn’t. There were more new people to be cared for and fed; many might go back to their own islands, if they still existed, but the people had to be fit and fed. That meant more work all around. And some people didn’t turn up because they had gone fishing; when it comes to voting or fishing, sea bass usually wins.
“All the red places belong to the English trousermen?” Mau asked.
“Yup,” said Pilu.
“That’s a lot of places!”
“Yup.”
“They’re not too bad,” said Pilu. “Mostly they want you to wear trousers and worship their god. He’s called God.”
“Just…God?”
“Right. He’s got a son who is a carpenter, an’ if you worship him, you climb the shining path when you die. The songs is nice and sometimes you get a biscuit.” Pilu watched Mau carefully. “What are you thinking, Mau?” he asked.
“Other people will come. Some will have guns,” said Mau thoughtfully.
“True,” said Pilu. “There is a lot of the yellow gold in the cave. Trousermen like it because it shines. They are like children.”
“Big children,” said Milo, “with guns.”
“What do you think we should do, Cahle?” said Mau, still looking at the maps.
The woman gave a shrug. “I trust the ghost girl. A father of a girl like that would be a good man.”
“How about if I take a canoe and sail it to the trouserman island and stick my flag in the sand?” said Tom-ali. “Will that make it our place?”
“No,” said Mau. “They would laugh. Flags are like guns that flap. If you have a flag, you need a gun.”
“Well? We have guns too.”
Mau fell silent.
“And bad gunpowder,” Pilu pointed out.
“I think…I think if you are a suckfish in a sea o’ sharks, you must swim with the biggest shark,” said Milo. This met with general approval; the island council was still learning about international politics, but they were experts on fish.
They all looked at Mau, who was staring at the chart again. He stared at it for so long that they began to worry. There had been something different about him since the Raiders had left. Everyone said so. He walked like someone whose feet only touched the ground because he told them to; when you talked to him, he looked at you like a man scanning a new horizon that only he could see.
“We cannot be stronger than the Empire,” he said, “but we can be something it doesn’t dare to be. We can be weak. The ghost girl told me about a man called Eyes-Ack New-Tan. He was not a warrior, he had no spear, but the sun and the moon spun inside his head and he stood on the shoulders of giants. The king of that time did him great honor because he knew the secrets of the sky. And I have an idea. I will talk to the ghost girl.”
There should be a word like honeymoon, Daphne thought, but not about husband and wife, rather about parent and child. This one lasted twelve days, and she felt as though she was the parent and he the child. She’d never seen her father like this before. They explored the whole of the island; he had picked up an amazing amount of the language in a short time. He went torch fishing with Milo and got rascally drunk on beer with the other men, so that they all ended up paddling one of the big canoes in several directions at once while singing the words of his old school song.
He taught them cricket, and they played a match against the soldiers and sailors from the ship, with rifles for stumps. It became very interesting when Cahle was allowed to bowl.
Daphne’s father declared that not only was Cahle the fastest bowler he had ever seen, but she also had an almost Australian talent for vicious and forensic accuracy with the ball. After the first three whimpering soldiers were carried down to the lagoon so they could sit in the water until the stinging died away, the fourth man took one look at her thundering toward him with her right arm swinging and ran away into the woods, clutching his helmet over his groin. For the sake of the game she was banned from bowling after Daphne’s father explained that women should not really be allowed to play cricket because they fundamentally didn’t understand it. But it seemed to Daphne that Cahle understood it very well, and therefore tried to get it over with as quickly as possible so that they could get on with something more interesting, since in her opinion the world was overwhelmingly full of things that were more interesting than cricket.
It was not much better for the soldiers when the islanders went to bat. Not only were they devilishly good at swinging a bat, but they had somehow picked up the idea that the ball should be aimed at someone on the opposing side. In the end the match was declared a draw because of injuries, most of them sitting in the lagoon.
And the ship came, and play stopped in any case.
Mau saw it first; he was always the first to see anything that came from the sea. It was the largest ship he had seen, with so many sails, it looked like a storm heading for them. Everyone was waiting on the beach as it anchored outside the lagoon and lowered a boat. There weren’t soldiers this time. The boat was rowed by four men in black.
“My word, that’s the Cutty Wren,” said His Excellency, handing the bat back to Pilu. “I wonder what they want here…. Ahoy, you chaps! Do you need help or something?”
The boat touched the sand and one of the men jumped out, hurried toward him, and drew him, protesting gently, along the beach and away from the match.
The conversation that took place was baffling to Mau, because the man in the black clothes spoke in a whisper while His Excellency asked questions at the top of his voice, so that what he heard was a fast buzzing, punctuated with explosions, as in “Me?”…“What, all of them?”…“What about Uncle Bernie? I know for a fact he is in America!”…“They have lions there?”…“Look, I’m really not—”…“Right here?”…“Well, of course no one wants another Richard the Lionheart, but surely we don’t need”…and so it went on. Then His Excellency held up a hand to stop the man in black in mid buzz and turned to Mau. He looked shaken, and in a strained voice said, “Sir, would you be so good as to fetch my daughter? I believe she is up at the Ladies’ Place, stitching somebody. Er, I’m sure this will all turn out to be a misunderstanding. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
When they got back, His Excellency’s soldiers, who had been lounging around in their shirtsleeves for more than a week, had struggled back into their red coats and were standing on guard, although at the moment they were unsure whom they were guarding from what and how, not to mention why, and so until there were any orders to speak of, they were guarding everyone from everything.
Another boat had been lowered and was heading into the lagoon, with more people in it. One of them, sitting bolt upright, was unfortunately familiar to Daphne.
She ran to her father. “What’s going on?” Daphne glared at the men in the black suits and added, “And who are these…people?”
“Is this your delightful daughter, sire?” said one of the men, raising his hat to her.
“Sire?” said Daphne. She glared at the man in black. No one should call anyone delightful without written proof.
“It turns out that I am, not to put too fine a point on it, king,” said His Majesty. “This has not come at a good time, I must say. This gentleman is Mr. Black, from London.”
Daphne stopped glaring. “But I thought one hundred and thirty—” she began. Then an expression of horror crossed her face. She looked back at the approaching row boat. “Has my grandmother been doing anything…silly? With knives and guns, perhaps?”
“Her ladyship? Not that I am aware,” said the Gentleman of Last Resort. “Here she comes now, Your Majesty. We called first at Port Mercia, of course, and picked up the Right Reverend Topleigh. I’m afraid the archbisho
p of Canterbury does not travel well, but he has sent instructions for the coronation.”
“A coronation here? Surely it can wait!” said His Majesty.
But Daphne was watching the figure in the distant boat. It couldn’t be true, could it? She wouldn’t come all this way, would she? For the chance of bossing a king around? Of course she would—she would have towed the ship with her teeth! And this time he wouldn’t be able to run away to the other end of the world.
“Strictly speaking, yes,” said Mr. Black. “You became king as soon as the last king died. At that very second. That’s how it works.”
“Really?” said His Majesty.
“Yes, sire,” said Mr. Black patiently, “God arranges it.”
“Oh good,” said the king weakly. “That’s very clever of Him.”
“And for full ratification, you understand, you must stand on the soil in England, but in these unusual circumstances,” Mr. Black went on, “and uncertain times, and so on and so forth, we thought it might save any argument—if we were delayed, for example—if the crown was firmly on your head. It would save any hairsplitting arguments—with the French, for instance—which can take such a long time.”
“There was the Hundred Years’ War, for example,” said a second gentleman.
“Well pointed out, Mr. Amber. In any case, we will have another coronation once we get home—which must, now, be a matter of some urgency, of course. Bunting, cheering, souvenir mugs for the children, that sort of thing. But in this case the Crown thought it would send out the right message to get you sorted out, as I might say, as soon as possible.” As he spoke, two of his colleagues began to take apart, with great care, the small crate they had brought ashore with them.
“Am I not the Crown?” asked His Majesty.
“No, sire, you are the king, sire,” said Mr. Black patiently. “You are, like us, underneath it. Subject to it.”
“But surely I can give you orders?”
“You can certainly make requests, sire, and we will do our very best to help. But, alas, you cannot give us orders. My word, we would be in a bad way if we took orders from kings. Isn’t that so, Mr. Brown?”
One of the men working on the crate looked up briefly. “It would be Charles the First all over again, Mr. Black.”
“You never said a truer word, Mr. Brown,” said Mr. Black. “It would be Charles the First all over again, and I don’t think any of us want to see Charles the First all over again, do we?”
“Why not?” asked Daphne.
Mr. Black turned to her and looked for a moment as if he was giving her a very quick examination.
“Because his arrogance and stupidity nearly lost England for the Crown, Your Royal Highness,” he said eventually.
Oh dear, thought Daphne, I am a princess now. Cor blimey. And I don’t think it’s the kind of thing you can resign from! A princess! Did you hear that, Mr. Foxlip, wherever you are? Ha!
“But wasn’t it Oliver Cromwell who had him executed?” she managed, trying to sound regal.
“Certainly, ma’am. But Oliver Cromwell wasn’t the problem. Charles the First was the problem. Oliver Cromwell was the solution. I’ll grant you he was a bit of a nuisance for a while afterward, but at least his unpleasant rule made people happy to see a king again. The Crown knows how to wait.”
“Charles the First’s head was cut off,” said Daphne, watching the new boat hit the sand.
“Clearly another reason for not wanting to see him,” said Mr. Black smoothly. “We wouldn’t be able to understand what he was saying.”
A plump man in clerical clothing, except possibly for the sarong, was helped out of the boat, and he in turn offered his hand to, yes, her grandmother. She was carrying an umbrella. An umbrella! It wasn’t to keep the rain off, of course. It was for prodding people, Daphne knew.
“Ah, and here is Her Ladyship now,” said Mr. Black, quite unnecessarily in Daphne’s view. He added: “She was wonderful company on the voyage out here. The nautical miles just flew past.” The little smile on his face was a masterpiece.
Grandmother looked around at the island, as if inspecting it for dust, and sighed. “One would have thought that we could have found somewhere cleaner,” she said. “Never mind. I trust you are well, Henry, and ready for the responsibility that has been thrust upon us by Divine Providence?”
“You mean all those people dying was provident?” said Daphne sharply. In her mind’s eye, ancestors toppled like dominoes…138 of them.
“That is no way to speak to your grandmother, Daphne,” said her father.
“Daphne? Daphne? What is this ‘Daphne’?” said Her Ladyship. “Ridiculous name. Don’t be silly, Ermintrude. Now, can we get on with things before we get eaten, for goodness’ sake?”
Daphne blushed in anger and embarrassment. “How dare you! Some of these people can speak English!”
“So?”
Daphne took a deep breath, and then her father’s hand was laid gently on her shoulder just as she opened her mouth. She shut it again, letting the rage seethe inside.
“That’s not the way, dear,” he said. “And we must get on.” He left her and shook hands with the bishop. “Ah, Charlie, good to see you. Your pointy hat not here?”
“Lost at sea, old boy. And when I picked up my crosier, it was full of blasted termites! Sorry about the sarong, couldn’t find m’ trousers,” said the bishop, shaking the king’s hand. “Wretched shame about what’s been happening, of course. Bit of a shock all around. Still, it’s not given to us to know the way the ways of Prov—of the Almighty.”
“It was probably an Act of God,” said Daphne.
“Indeed, indeed,” said the bishop, fumbling in his bag.
“Or a miracle,” Daphne went on, defying her grandmother to take her by the ear on her beach. But Grandmother did not take defiance lightly, or at all.
“I shall talk to you later about this wayward behavior, Ermintrude—” she began, striding forward. But two gentlemen were suddenly in her way.
“Ah, here it is,” said the bishop very loudly, and he straightened up. “Of course we don’t generally carry royal anointing oil out here, but my lads make a coconut oil that keeps cricket bats nice and supple. I hope that will be sufficient.” This was to Mr. Black, who worried him even more than her ladyship.
“That will be fine, Your Grace,” said Mr. Black. “Miss…Daphne, would you be so kind as to ask the islanders if we may use one of these ceremonial stones as a throne?”
Daphne looked at the scattered god stones. They’d gotten rather unnoticed in the past week.
“Mau, can they—?” she began.
“Yes, they can,” said Mau. “But tell them they don’t work.”
It was, according to the history books, the fastest coronation since Bubric the Saxon crowned himself with a very pointy crown on a hill during a thunderstorm, and reigned for one and a half seconds.
Today, a man sat down. He was handed a golden orb and a golden scepter, which the watching islanders approved of because, when you got right down to it, a scepter was just a shiny club. Mau was happy with his fish spear, but in their hearts the islanders knew that a chief should have a really big club. Later on, some of them had had a go with it, however, and considered it a bit cumbersome for a real fight. They found it far more interesting than the crown, which sparkled in the sunlight but didn’t do anything useful. But because of it, and after a certain amount of talking, a man stood up who ruled so many places on the planet that mapmakers often ran out of red ink.
At this point the men in black produced some small versions of the trouserman flag, raised them enthusiastically, and shouted: “Hurrah.”
“I’d like the crown back now, please, Your Majesty,” said Mr. Black quickly. “I will give you a receipt, of course.”
“Oh, it will all be so much better when we are crowned properly in London,” said Grandmother. “Really this is just for—”
“You will be silent, woman,” said the king with
out raising his voice.
For a moment Daphne thought she was the only one to have heard. Grandmother hadn’t, because she still went on talking. And then her ears caught up with her tongue, and couldn’t believe their eyes.
“What did you say?” she managed.
“Ah, you’ve got it right at last, Mother,” said the king. “I’m me, not us. I am I, not we. One pair of buttocks on the throne, one head in the crown. You, on the other hand, are a sharp-tongued harridan with the manners of a fox and don’t interrupt me when I’m talking! How dare you insult our hosts! And before you utter a word, contemplate this: You treasure your elevation above what you call the lower classes, whom I’ve always found to be pretty decent people once they’ve had a chance to have a bath. Well, I am king, you see—king—and the very notion of nobility that you cling to like grim death means that you will not answer me back. You will, however, act with grace and gratitude during the remainder of our stay in this place. Who knows, it may speak to you as it has spoken to me. And if you are even now putting together a scathing remark, let me point out for your lengthy consideration the wonderful and highly advisable option of silence. That is a command!”
The king, breathing a little heavily, nodded to the leader of the Gentlemen of Last Resort.
“That was all right, wasn’t it?” he said to the Gentlemen of Last Resort. Grandmother was simply staring at nothing.
“Of course, sire. You are king, after all,” murmured Mr. Black.
“’Scuse me, miss,” said a voice behind Daphne. “Are you Miss Ermintrude?”
She turned to see who’d spoken. One of the boats had returned and picked up more of the crew, and now she was staring at a small man in badly fitting clothes. They had clearly belonged to someone who had been happy to get rid of them.
“Cookie?”
He beamed. “Told you my coffin’d keep me alive, miss!”
“Papa, this is Cookie, who was a great friend to me on the Judy. Cookie, this is my father. He’s king.”
“That’s nice,” said Cookie.
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