His Majesty started as the tunnel again roared around them. Then as quickly as it had started, it stopped. They were through! Bewildered rebels, a little the worse for wear, saw the engine burst forth from the tunnel in a cloud of steam and smoke, flinging the light wooden barricade as matchwood to the four winds and showering them with sparks. Then, before they could even load, let along fire, it was gone. The Commandant was furiously waving his three-cornered hat and shouting "Stop or I fire." It did not stop, and it was too late to fire. Instead, being a bad leader, he rounded upon his men.
"Dolts! Idiots! Imbeciles!" he shouted, beginning to foam slightly at the mouth. "Why did you not stop them; why did you not fire? That was the accursed tyrant with his doubly qualified family and triply-blanked ministers The message to stop them has just come through from the Palace.. And YOU, you quadruply-adjectived nouns, you let them go without even firing. You adjectivally-participled blunderers! I'll have you all executed for this at sunrise."
He stalked haughtily away, unhitched his horse, and rode off at a gallop to inform the Baron that the King had got away, passing long lines of prisoners as he went. The nearer he got to the Baron's tent, the less he liked the job. And when he arrived, he was exceedingly meek and humble, and bowed low to the Baron on being shown in.
"Vot's all dis?" spluttered the latter angrily, "Ve are most busy. Vot do you vant? Vottisit?"
"Your Highness, owing to the stupidity of some of our soldiers, the Pretender has got out of the city."
The Baron went dark red in the face, and the Commandant, who was extremely frightened, like all bullies when they become the bullied, thought (and rather hoped) that he would choke. But he did not.
"Vy has dis been allowed to happen?" he roared, rising to his feet. "Vy did you not stop him? The Revolution cannot tolerate BUNGLERS!" He turned to his secretary. "Have zis man executed at vonce for not doiing his duty!"
The Commandant as dragged off, howling for mercy, to the insatiable Guillotine. The Baron returned to his work. If he could have seen His Majesty, at that very moment gathered, with the others, round the hamper that the Yellow Dandelion had provided and drinking a toast "To the Restoration!" he would probably have been rather amused. For he had a glimpse, not of the Duke of Delphinium (oh, dear, no) but of a rather podgy individual seated on the Throne (specially strengthened, of course) in St Wargle's Cathedral, while a well-bribed Archbishop of Flopford placed a new Crown, hideously ornate and in the worst possible taste, upon his head (ditto). And hundreds of people would come up to kiss his hand, and then they would all shout "Long live King Henry IX of Flopdoodle!" for the Baron's name was Henry. And afterwards there would be a great banquet with lots of wine and lobster salad, of which he was very fond. Then there should be no difficulty in getting rid of Richard and the other members of the Royal family hardly counted.
He was interrupted in this agreeable reverie by the entry of a messenger, soot-smutted and splashed with mud, who gave the Revolutionary Salute with vigour.
"Well?" said the Baron confidently.
"Message from Citizen-General Wurzle, in charge of the Revolutionary Forces inside the City. All clear. The palace has been captured and the Town Hall is also in our hands. They want to go ahead with the Proclamation as soon as possible. The Pretender has fled with his family and a few hangers-on. He escaped because the barricade at the main gate had been destroyed and the guards there had only a temporary one."
"I know," interrupted the Baron. "I had the Commandant executed for that"
"He wants to know, are they to be pursued tonight? He would prefer to use the men to reinforce the garrison. The Guillotine has been brought in and set up in King Henry VII Square, which has been renamed Revolution Square. The streets are fairly quiet since the Lord Mayor surrendered the city two hours ago. If there are supporters of the Pretender left they have apparently decided it is safer to behave themselves. He thinks all will be well."
"Thank you," said the Baron, pulling on his boots and reaching for his cloak. They rode rapidly to the main gate and through now almost deserted streets to the Palace. The Guillotine was standing in Revolutionary Square, ready for use. Beside it stood the Guillotine Puller, a squat steam engine driven by a single enormous cylinder, with a pitchfork attached to the end of the piston rod. But at this early hour there was no one about. A few houses here and there were still smouldering, but a fire at the power station had put the electric lighting out of action, so this was practically all the illumination they had. .At the Palace, however, large cressets had been lighted in the old-fashioned iron baskets, flickering in the cold breeze of six o'clock in the morning. In the East a faint glow heralded the approach of dawn.
"We're going to hold the proclamation at eight," explained General Wurzle, who was in the courtyard as the Baron dismounted, "but I wanted to know what to do about the Pretender. We are still pretty stretched and could do with more men. I telegraphed immediately to every town and village near a railway line in the country, but only some of them replied. The local Revolutionary Councils will keep a good watch, no doubt."
"I sink den dat is all ve can do," said the Baron, cleaning his boots on the doormat with quick, military strokes. "It vill be useless trying to chase the train. Ve vill have to intercept it." He arrogantly flung open the door and strutted into the hall of the Palace from which His Majesty and the others had been forced to flee less than three hours before.
***********
At eight o'clock precisely the glass doors on to the balcony overlooking the town parted, and a Herald appeared with a scroll, followed by two others with golden trumpets, the Baron, the Earl of Argleham, the Grand Duchess (still looking very shaken), General Wurzle, and last but by no means whatsoever least, our old friend Ezra Mudd, who was to broadcast the ceremony. The clear notes of the trumpets rang out to silence the vast crowd which had collected below. There was some booing. Three men were immediately hurried off to the Guillotine. The Herald stepped forward, and opened the scroll. Loudspeakers carried his words to every part of the vast concourse.
"WHEREAS by fleeing from this City and Realm our former Sovereign, reigning neither by rightful succession or the will of his Subjects, has today renounced and abdicated all claim to the Throne of Flopdoodle that he or his heirs or successors may have or be held to have.
"NOW BE IT KNOWN that Richard, the Duke of Delphinium, has now legally become Our Only True and Rightful Liege Lord, RICHARD THE FIFTH, BY THE GRACE OF GOD, KING OF FLOPDOODLE, PRINCE OF THE CHARGLING ISLANDS, and may he long be spared to reign over us. LONG LIVE THE KING!"
The cheering was not very hearty. Five men were hurried off to the Guillotine and it got a bit louder. The procession turned and went back into the Palace. Richard V had been proclaimed. But the new King was eating dry bread in the deepest dungeon in Castle Koffmikscher, and was not available to greet his new subjects.
REVOLUTION IN FLOPDOODLE
Chapter Nine
Meanwhile the Royal Train was swaying gently on its springs as it ran through the peaceful, well watered and lightly wooded valleys of rural Flopdoodle. They had had no interference as yet and little inconvenience, except for occasional level crossings that had been shut, and a cow that had been wandering across the track in. the middle of the night, and whose debris was now strewn over three counties. They had slept well, although the floor could hardly be called comfortable, but would probably have wakened much earlier, and eaten breakfast far less happily, had they known what as in store for them.
The Central Revolutionary Council was of course keeping a sharp lookout for all such reports, and as farmers awoke they began to hear stories of animals missing - the one who owned the cow was particularly irate because he had lost one only four years before, when a train was derailed in the Great Gugglian War. The news of a broken level-crossing gate next attracted attention, and an official guessed that fugitives were heading for Doodledale, to take ship there. He was right as far as direction went, though in
fact they were only going as far as Fizzling Towers. When, exactly as predicted by the official, (who was given a medal for it) the train went through the next set of gates seven minutes later, the local Revolutionary Council told Flopford, and orders were issued by the Baron, whose breakfast had disagreed with him, that the escaping Court were to be taken dead or alive -- but preferably alive, because they would end up dead in any case!
At the village of Little Spluttering in the Soup some fourteen miles away the Revolutionaries hastily got together some dynamite, and prepared a booby trap out of an old bridge joining two fields. It was to be set off by a. contact on the rails, and arranged for a train at 80 m.p.h. As a matter of fact. fact the train was going at only 60 m.p.h but as events turned out it didn't matter at all.
For another band of Revolutionaries about two miles earlier also had a plan. What a blessing for the world that there are people in it with brains! They had available a large railway junction and goods yard with several sets of points. The train would of course have to slow down considerably to go through this junction and in any case had to negotiate a steep rise on the far side. Some local genius, whose name. alas! is still quite unknown, conceived the happy idea of diverting the engine on to the sidings and letting the carriage (or carriages - they didn’t know which) run on along the line until it came to a stop. His Majesty and friends would then no doubt eagerly be escorted to the Guillotine. Of course timing was crucial - someone would have to stand by the track and throw the points over at just the right moment.
However as I have said before, the persons for whom this reception had been made ready, were still blissfully unaware of it. At their speed it was going to take them about eight minutes to get to the first village. and as it was they had already slowed considerably by the time they got there. So the Yellow Dandelion, who had been telling of some of his experiences in the Gugglian Revolution in an off-hand manner .which belied his tremendous courage, had gone to the window to see what was happening. Suddenly there was a loud clank and clang from the front of the coach, and the brakes went on. The driver had spotted the man by the trackside. As their speed fell almost to walking pace some soldiers appeared behind the sheds, where the revolutionaries had been waiting in a train of their own to give chase. However before anything else could happen the driver leant out of his cab, threw a large spanner at the man at the points and hit him. As the man crumpled fell to the ground, the fireman turned the regulator to full and the train leapt forward.
They still had to worry about the pursuing train. However the revolutionaries had not reckoned with the local villagers, who bad been rather annoyed when the Revolutionary Council had closed the local public-houses because they wanted them to work harder.. They saw what was going on and interfered. One of them had got to the points a mile further on, and diverted the Royal Train on to a different line, knowing that the train would not stop for at least three miles. After that they could rejoin the main line again. But the revolutionaries went straight on, right over the hill, and came to the bridge where their companions were still lying in wait. And their trap worked perfectly. Which all goes to show, as Quangle said later, that too many conspirators spoil a Revolution.
Fortunately no one on the Royal train was hurt, but the soldiers had managed to put several shots through the boiler, and steam was escaping from several of them. So when His Majesty and the others, unaware that these retributions had been going on so happily, came round the last bend of the branch line the train had been reduced to the much safer speed of fifteen miles an hour. It was just as well, for both loyalists and rebels had forgotten the points! The train derailed by the side of a ploughed field and came to a halt; but luckily remained upright. The Prime Minister was one of the first to move. and picking himself out of the hamper, where the shock had flung him, he asked "Now what?"
"We'll have to get out of here as quickly as possible,” said the Yellow Dandelion, getting down from the luggage rack. '"It's a pity we'll have to travel by daylight seeing that His Majesty's portrait is on all the stamps and half the coins in the country. It would be just too much to expect to meet only' people with only old money in their pockets! But we ought to be able to get hold of a coach. or even a tram, with luck. I wish we had thought of escaping in the Guillotine Puller! That would have been a lark.”
As he .spoke cheerfully they were all already .getting up and preparing to go. The train had been going so slowly that not much harm had been done by the derailment. The Yellow Dandelion flung open a door and jumped out; he then handed Her Majesty down and assisted her while they picked their way across the field away from the line. They came to a gate which led into a narrow lane between high banks, and after the Yellow Dandelion had made a cautious reconnaissance and. said that all was clear, they crossed it and found themselves in a small copse. Here they sat behind a large fallen tree-trunk and waited while the leader of the party looked for some vehicle.
After half and hour or so a low whistle announced his return with a small coach he had managed to hire in the village by saying that he was on urgent Revolutionary business in pursuit of the King, and flourishing several. important looking papers covered with all sorts of seals that he had made himself for such. occasions. His Majesty wore a large hat with a brim, sat in side with Her Majesty, wearing a heavy veil. The Prime Minister and Quangle, whose clothes, provided by the Yellow Dandelion, as neither had had time to dress, were fortunately identical, stood at the boot as footmen or, if necessary, as guards for the Royal pair. The Yellow Dandelion, who was an excellent whip, climbed onto the box seat, and they bumped and shook and jolted off down the lane.
It was a matter fortunately only of some twenty miles as the crow flies to Fizzling Towers, so the aristocrat-coachman drove at full speed when he at last found himself on the smooth surface of the main road. All went well until they came to the River Llydhyl, where it was necessary to pay a toll charge to cross the bridge. The smart equipage drew to a halt and a Revolutionary Guard lounged forward to take the fee, looking as if he thought such smartness was "anti-revolutionary." As the Yellow Dandelion put his hand to his pocket, another guard came up and glanced into the carriage, and recognised the King
"Oy!" he shouted hoarsely, The Pretender is in this-ere!"
But the Yellow Dandelion was ready for this.
"Of course he is, you dolt I" he exclaimed "He was arrested this morning at Little Spluttering-in-the-Soup", and he’s .to be taken to Doodledale where they'll send him back to Flopford for trial and execution. So I'm on most important business, as I told you. I have a good mind to have you two executed too for interfering in the Revolution, and hindering an Revolutionary Officer in the performance of his duty! Come on, out of my way!“
To give the final shock he drew from his pocket, not the hoped-for gold piece, but his sheaf of documents, and waved them in front of the guard's goggling eyes. The latter individual gave way at once, and opened the barrier as quickly as he knew how, cringing as they passed
"Long live the Glorious Revolution" he gasped feebly in response to the Yellow Dandelion's smart Revolutionary Salute, as the coach leapt forward. Quangle, looking back, saw him quake at the knees, raise his hand weakly to his forehead, and collapse in the road. Her Majesty fainted from relief, and had to be slowly brought round again by her husband. Even the Yellow Dandelion, hardened as he was to all sorts of crises, reeled inwardly at the threat of such a narrow squeak.
They turned off the main road on to a side road which led along, the banks of the slow-flowing river, until, just where it turned inland, they came to the main gates of Fizzling Towers. Although it was really· little more than five weeks, it seemed years to Quangle since they had staggered through them, soaked to the skin after the sinking of the S.S. Tubby. Then it had been March, cold and stormy; now it was early May and flowers bloomed. everywhere. As they rattled up the drive,. which had been vastly improved and repaired since Quangle had owned the house, the ground. around the trees, clad in their
delicate spring green leaves, glowed and sparkled with colour. The whole place appeared to welcome them, and although His Majesty had lost his throne only that morning and had been in greater danger of losing his head also, he cheered up, and became almost happy.
With a great rattle of the iron tyres on gravel, they drew up with a flourish and jerk in front of the grim front door which as usual, opened just like a giant's mouth, revealing, however, only one tooth in the shape of the butler.
"Welcome once more to Fizzling Towers, Your Majesties and your Lordship“ announced the tooth with a deep bow, "though with the reports that have going round I was afraid that you might be somewhat delayed. There is a good fire in the Drawing Room, Your Lordship, and dinner will be served in fifteen minutes.”
“You really are marvellous," said Quangle, as the others went into the house. “Just like a butler out of a book.”
“HI endeavour to give satisfaction, Your Lordship" replied Simons, with a melancholy air, “I am glad to know that things are to Your Lordship’s satisfaction.”
"Oh quite,” said Quangle hastily. "Have you had much interference from the rebels?”
"Very little, I am happy to say. I had a spy-hole made over the front door, so I always know now whether or not to answer the door."
“That 's good,” explained Quangle, “for, as you will probably see in your evening paper, we had to flee from the Palace in the early hours of this morning, and as we had a bit of bother getting here, they may well come looking for us here, in which case we’ll probably have to hop into the secret passages – if we can find them. Tell me, how did you know we were coming?"