Revolution in Flopdoodle
By Peter Calvert
Copyright 2012 Peter Calvert
Published by Owlwood Books
The moral right of the author has been asserted
For Bill Clements
REVOLUTION IN FLOPDOODLE
Chapter One
It was a fine spring morning in Flopdoodle. Nearly four years had passed since the great war with the neighbouring state of Gugglia had disturbed the peace of His Majesty's reign, now in its seventh year. The great Revolution in Gugglia, which had ended the war, was long since over; and for His Majesty himself things had been entirely pleasant ever since his would-be assassin, Dartrolioski, had been liquidated -- or, more accurately, evaporated. In a grand Royal Wedding, in Flopford Cathedral, His Majesty had recently been married to a Princess from the neighbouring state of Amnesia who shared his liking for small furry animals.
This was as well, since His Majesty, since the destruction of the Royal Fishpond, had taken up the keeping of rabbits. Hutches had appeared in lengthening rows along the wall of the kitchen garden, much to the annoyance of the Head Gardener, as they completely covered his prize asparagus bed, and of Her Majesty, as horseradish sauce and rhubarb had both vanished from the Palace menus. For these rabbit pie every day was not a very palatable substitute.
Quangle, the King's friend, helper, Chief Adviser, etc., had also been far from idle. Two new taps had been fitted to His Majesty's bath, one for hot cocoa and one for hot tea; while in the hammered gold loofah-stand stood a combined cup-and-soap dish and sugar/bathsalts jar. Neither got used very much -- for obvious reasons. A new ship, to be called HFMS Horrible, had been laid down and was to be launched by Her Majesty, but as there was a wood shortage it was not yet finished. And. a complete new set of stamps had been issued to commemorate the three hundredth anniversary of the invention of bed socks.
This chronicle of the most momentous and even memorable year in the whole of the long and glorious history of this ancient (even antique) realm begins on a sunny morning in early March, when His Majesty, full of interest in a new breed of rabbit he had invented, with long tail, no ears to speak of, and remarkably little rabbit in between, was walking across the spacious, well rolled lawn, dewy and glistening, on his way to the rabbit hutches. He was accompanied by a rather careworn Quangle, who at that hour of the morning would much rather have been sound asleep in bed.
“Come on, Quangle" said His Majesty encouragingly. “It’s a lovely morning - just the weather to be happy. But you don't look very happy. Is anything the matter?"
Quangle thought for a moment. "Well no, perhaps not,” he replied. “That is, it looks as if there is going to be a revolt.”
Quangle then helped His Majesty, who had put his foot in a rabbit hole by mistake, to his Royal Feet, and dusted him.
"I beg your pardon?" gasped His Majesty.
“It looks as if there is going to be a revolt,” Quangle repeated clearly and distinctly.
“Where? Why? Who?“ asked His Majesty sharply.
"Eastern Flopdoodle; they don't like you; they are just revolting ....”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said His Majesty impatiently, “What is the Army doing?"
"Farming, mostly,” replied Quangle, “though some of them have joined. the conspiracy."
"Good gracious! What do we do now?"
"I must say I don't quite know," explained Quangle, scratching his head, "There are about four hundred of them and we should have several thousand, but it will take several days to get them all mobilized."
“It's not very many, is it? said His Majesty, looking somewhat anxious, "Still, I don't suppose the rebels will be armed.”
"Not properly armed,” corrected Quangle. "But even a pitchfork can be rather uncomfortable. On the other hand, we have just finished arming the Kitchen Cavalry with new toasting forks and. shields will soon be standard issue.”
"That's something anyway,” agreed His Majesty, “Now, what about public opinion. Are the key people still on my side? That’s the most important thing."
“Well, yes and no," said Quangle. “That is, most of them are, but there is a very strong group, led by the Earl of Fizzling Towers, which includes the Dowager Grand-Duchess of Upper Gargling, the Earl of Argleham and Baron Balderdash, who are supporting a claim to the throne of the Duke of Delphinium. After all he is only twelve, and they are his relations.”
"I know it," said His Majesty sadly, "I always loathed Great-Aunt Agatha. She will insist on trying to run everything. Still, the Earl of Fizzling Towers is a much more serious proposition. He commands much more support since he became the Lord Great Chamberlain of the Realm.”
"What do you intend to do, then?" Quangle asked.
“Bring the Earl up to Flopford and make him explain himself. If necessary I’ll sack him.”
“But that means a Council of Peers, doesn't it?"
“I’m afraid so,” sighed His Majesty, as he turned back towards the Palace. "What the Queen will have to say about all this I really don't know.' He shivered and clasped his robe more tightly around him, as the sun had gone in, and an icy wind was blowing in off the sea.
**********
Fizzling Towers was an eligible detached residence, complete with three and a half towers, ample quantities of battlements, six foot thick walls coated with pure running water, uneven stone stairs and floors which sloped unexpectedly, an armoury, more than twenty large halls and more than a hundred echoing rooms with old-fashioned brick fireplaces, oak panelling, canopied beds, secret passages, a Haunted Room, very few modem conveniences and an hour's walk from the railway station. On this particular day in late March, as the night closed in, there was a vast log fire burning in the drawing room grate and the Earl himself was sitting in front of it, muttering.
“'Tchah! Pah!“ he grumbled, "Oh yes - and BAH."
It will be gathered that the Earl was in a bad temper. As well he might, for only an hour before a herald had appeared in the front drive, and after riding round the castle twice, had proclaimed.
“WHEREAS there is a disgraceful and, mischievous spread of disloyalty and revolt amongst subjects of all degrees and positions of His Most Royal Majesty the King, among whom many of the nobility are deemed. to be involved, now' be it known by these presents that His Highness the Earl of Fizzling Towers is commanded upon his allegiance to attend at. a Council of Peers to be held at our Palace and Court of St. Wargle at Flopford on the Twenty-Sixth of this month of March, and WHEREAS in times past by the feet of divers persons the Palace Cat has been cruelly maltreated as it hath lain sleeping upon the carpets and mats of the Palace aforesaid the heretofore mentioned noble Earl is requested to observe due care. LONG L!VE THE KING!”
“Grah!” choked the Earl loudly, gnashing his teeth - which fell out and tumbled to the floor. There followed loud toothless mutterings as he got up to get a candle with which to find them. (Fizzling Towers had. of course, no electric light). The candle then fell out of the candlestick, spilling candle grease all over a seventeenth-century tapestry chair. More toothless mumblings. After a few minutes he located the teeth and replaced them hastily.
“Grrumph!“ said the Earl, as he replaced the candle in the candelabrum over his head. “Tchah!“ he remarked again. “Hunh!“ he snorted. “I won’t go!“ he spluttered. “Still, perhaps I’d better go,“ he grunted thoughtfully. “I’ll tell them what I think of them!” He tugged hard on the ancient bellrope. It broke. Incoherent splutters of rage came from the Earl’s lips, and he pulled off his coronet and jumped on it.
**********
The day had come. The Council of Peers was meeting with all the ceremony and pageantry of twenty centuries of Flopdudlian history
-- well, three or four, really. Six trumpeters stood on either side of the marble entrance of the Council Chamber, through which the Cardinal-Archbishop of Flopford in vermilion splendour, wafted by the breeze of twelve ostrich-feather fans, was sweeping to take his place on a small throne beside the dais. Already on both sides of the pillared hall the benches shimmered in the seven colours of the rainbow and the peers of the realm awaited the entrance of Royalty.
"We should have these more often," whispered Quangle before entering. "It's quite a gathering!"
"Nonsense!" said His Majesty, glancing at his watch, "Why can't Her Majesty ever arrive on time?" he asked irritably, ignoring the fact that he himself had been slightly late. As he spoke there was a rustling noise from the top of the marble staircase and Her Majesty appeared, radiant in cloth of gold. Everyone said "ah!" Quangle turned to the door and entered. "Prince Quangle, lord of Dishwater," proclaimed the Herald,. The fanfare sounded loudly in his ears, so loudly that one of the trumpets cracked. from end. to end, emitting a startled YARP! His Majesty winced, and three strong men immediately removed the trumpeter to a commodious dungeon.
"Make sure we get a new trumpet before the visit of the President of Monomania" remembered His Majesty, “Are you ready, m'dear?”
The orchestra in the hall struck up the National Anthem and all the peers rose to bow deeply as the royal pair took their places on the dais. Once seated on the Throne, His Majesty signed to the Herald, who read rapidly in a low monotone:
“By Order of the King. Know ye and all whom it may concern that it is our royal will and pleasure that this Council of Peers be called this day to decide whether or not His Highness, Stephen, Earl of Fizzling Towers, is guilty of High Treason, in that he did in the County of Bugshire at various dates in the past month incite rebellion against his rightful lord the King, and to show just cause why he should not be deprived of' his honours and banished. Long live the King!"
For a few moments after he had finished there was absolute silence.
"I protest I object I disagree!" burbled the Earl of Fizzling Towers, as he rose to his feet, his rattler crumpled coronet dropping off in his excitement. "I - I - gurgle! Splutter!"
'There seems to be very little doubt that he is guilty, " interrupted the Earl of Tobres, who was in residence in that part of the country, "I myself am sure of it. What we have to decide is what to do with him."
There were general mutters of assent.
"If that is agreed, as it appears to be," said His Majesty, "I shall call for a vote on the punishment proposed. Those in favour say Aye?"
"AYE!"
"Contrary, No?"
"Glub glub," mumbled the Earl of Fizzling Towers.
"The Ayes have it!" said His Majesty firmly. "Then I declare that Stephen, Earl of Fizzling Towers, is declared banished, and forfeits all honours and property within this Realm. Furthermore," he added, "It is our Royal Will and Pleasure that the title of Earl of Fizzling Towers be bestowed upon Prince Quangle, lord of Dishwater ...."
"I - I - protest," spluttered the Earl of Fizzling Towers. "Th - this is favouritism," he claimed, "DOWN WITH THE KING!" he shouted, losing all self-control, and waving a small Revolutionary Flag. He was instantly seized by two earls and an Archbishop, while a mere baronet seized the flag and tore it up.
"Remove the former Earl of Fizzling Towers," commanded His Majesty. A squad of Palace Guards did so. Quangle was brought forward and knelt in the traditional manner.
"According to the Golden Law of King Alexander IX, Chapter 6, section 77, paragraph 10, I invest thee with the dignity of Earl of Fizzling Towers and all houses, castles, mansions, lands, territories, goods, chattels, beasts, livestock, servants and monies belonging to that dignity, so thou be faithful and loyal." He turned to the assembly. "And I shall deal in this was with any further insurrection, so I rely upon you to see that the people continue to be well governed and to remain peaceably in their homes, without meddling with affairs of State with which it is not necessary for them to do. The Council is dissolved."
REVOLUTION IN FLOPDOODLE
Chapter Two
"Lero, lero, lilibulero," carolled Quangle happily, as he added a pair of slippers and a plastic duck to the already rather overfilled trunk, "Lilibulero - come on now - lero, lero - Ah, there you are!" he broke off, perceiving His Majesty standing in the doorway. "Would you mind sitting on the lid of this trunk? I can't get it closed."
"What are you doing?" enquired his Majesty, lowering his twelve stone six-and-a-half on to the top of the trunk.
"Moving my spare belongings down to Fizzling Towers of course," replied Quangle.
There was a loud crunch.
"Excuse me," said Quangle, "But I think you have just stood upon my tin of Powdered Anti-scorbutic Antirrhinum. That goes with the medical box over there.”
"But surely ...."
"Don't worry," said Quangle. "There's not much spilt."
"L - look here ....."
"Oh, there's the small glass vase," exclaimed Quangle, and he put it into another crate.
"QUANGLE!"
Quangle dropped a jar of adhesive floor polish. It stuck to the floor. Well, it would, wouldn't it?
"What are you doing this for?" asked His Majesty.
"Well," replied Quangle. tying up a chair in brown paper, "As you warned me beforehand, Dishwater Castle is a ruin and has been for years and frankly it is beyond repair. So it will be good to have somewhere of my own. And now I've got a proper castle of my own I may as well use it to keep things in."
He put the chair into a crate and began to polish another chair.
"Now, if you don't mind, the furniture van will be here at two," went on Quangle. "Hold this for a moment, please," and he thrust an oil painting of a vase of flowers and a jug of milk into His Majesty's hands.
"Well, really!" exclaimed His Majesty.
"When I've moved them down to Fizzling Towers, you can come and stay," said Quangle. "I really must hurry."
"How are you getting there?" asked His Majesty.
"In the furniture van with the furniture," answered Quangle. "No, don't move that armchair. I need it to sit on."
At that moment the Prime Minister entered the room - and stopped short with a whistle of surprise.
"Have you seen the Daily Wail yet?" he asked. "I don't suppose you have," he went on, eying the odd assortment of objects which Quangle was trying thoughtfully to squeeze into a hatbox, from which he had removed the hat.
"Why what's in it? asked the King, trying to stamp the hat flat enough to fit into another trunk, and still leave room for several rat traps and an old stone club.
"The revolutionaries, have proclaimed that they will deliver Flopdoodle from the Tyrant's Yoke (meaning you - the Tyrant not the Yoke) - and they claim to have won over the Duke of Delphinium, the heir to the throne. He's only twelve, you know."
"Oh, yes?" said His Majesty, who had not been listening. "Quangle, where does this jar of fish paste go?"
"It doesn't," replied Quangle. That's part of my afternoon tea - for eating on the way down to Fizzling Towers."
"That reminds me," remembered His Majesty. "Can I come with you?"
"Certainly," replied Quangle. "Please do. Well, now that's everything. Ah, there's the dinner gong for lunch."
They went downstairs.
***********
"The last Earl of Fizzling Towers didn't keep his drive very well," said His Majesty, as the furniture van dived into the umpteenth pothole and a bust of one of His Majesty's ancestors fell on to Quangle's head. Then the van rose again and His Majesty nearly slid out through the back.
"Too busy plotting", said Quangle, looking rather green, as he peered through a hole in the canopy. "Ah! here it is now, I think." and, as they crossed a small bridge, Fizzling Towers appeared in a hollow below them, looking unexpectedly cheerful in the afternoon sun. Then the furniture van pulled up at the front portico with a jerk which threw Quangle and His Majesty out of their wicker
chairs on to the floor. They crawled out through the back of the van.
"Well, here we are!" said His Majesty cheerfully.
Quangle nodded.
"Come on now, don't laze!"
Quangle shook his head.
Fizzling Towers frowned at them, and then it opened its wide mouth - and out came the butler.
"Welcome to Fizzling Towers, Your Majesty, and Your Lordship," he said with a deep bow. "Deign but to come in."
They stepped through the antique portal into the Great Hall.
"What a. lovely unspoiled old castle," remarked Quangle, looking round, "Oh butler! Is there a telephone?"
"Yes, of course, Your Lordship," replied the butler.
"Then have it removed,'· ordered Quangle, and be stepped into the drawing room and, looking round: "What is your name?"
"Simons, Your Lordship."
"Thank you. A pity there is so much candle grease on that Chippendale chair, Simons. No electric light. Good!"
"There is gas, though, Your Lordship," said the butler. The last Earl had it put in in several rooms so that he could read after dark."
They went up the stone stairs.
"This is the bath-room on your left," announced Simons, "It has a stone bath. The bedroom on your left is empty."
They looked into it.
"Just the place for my collection of old Flopdudlian coins," exclaimed Quangle. "I wonder what's in that cupboard?"
He opened it. A skeleton fell out and hit him on the head.
"So that's where the 4th .Earl of Fizzling Towers went to after the Rising of 1385,' exclaimed the ·butler.
"Is this a haunted room?" Quangle asked.
"No, the Haunted Room. is in the other wing, Your Lordship, " replied the butler.
"There aren't any secret passages or rooms, are there?" asked His Majesty.
"How could I know, Your Majesty?" replied the butler, "They wouldn't be secret if I knew of them, now would they?"
"Well there aren't any supposed to exist, are there?" asked Quangle. as they moved toward the door.
"'Dozens, Your Lordship," replied the butler, "There are supposed to be some maps in the library but if they show them, none have been found in my time."