He stepped back and the audience cheered for two minutes. Then the Grand Duchess came forward.
"Do all you can to rescue the brave young man," she said, "All Flopdoodle looks to you."
The men cheered for another five minutes. Then the officers gave the order and the Revolutionary Army began its march on Flopford.
Meanwhile the Prime Minister was standing at a window in the Front Corridor, on the first floor of the Palace, when he saw a cloud of dust coming up the West Road at great speed. He rushed downstairs in time to see the car, for it was a car, skid neatly to a standstill up the front steps, through the door and into the hall, where it came to rest beside the umbrella-stand. A young man in uniform climbed out.
"Dispatch for the King, sir, " he said. "Where is he?"
"Here!" said His Majesty, putting his head out of the Drawing Room. "What's the matter?"
"Your Majesty!" announced the messenger, saluting and clicking his heels for luck. "Message from the Commander, General Wurzle. At 1137 hours, Greywich Mean Time, the rebel forces moved off. They are now advancing on and should be within sight of the Palace by about 1330 hours, Message ends." And he saluted again.
"Thank you," said His Majesty. "Present my compliments to the Commander and thank him for the message. Tell him Flopdoodle expects that every man will do his duty. And next time remember to wipe your car on the mat before you come in."
+++++++++++
At Flopford Air Port all was busy. The aeroplane had been pulled out of its hangar. It had not been working very well, and mechanics were working on it, without much hope of getting it to go.
"Odd things, revolutions," said one.
"Ar," replied the other.
"Means more work for us, though."
"Oh, ar!"
The conversation was over. It had never really got going.
**********
On board the Flopford Castle three days out from Olsty on her way ·to Suriana, the captain was pacing the bridge. He kept looking at his watch.
"Mr Jones!" he called. "Take over for about ten minutes, will you?"
He went along to his cabin and turned on the wireless.
"Here is the news, and this is Ezra Mudd reading it ......."
It went on to make many statements; none of them true. But then, he thought to himself, what was true?
**********
In a balloon high above Flopford, Squadron Leader Zack Humblesson was surveying the rebel lines through a pair of binoculars. The basket creaked gently, and from time to time he refreshed himself from his bottle of lemonade. To pass the time he ate peaches and threw the stones at the soldiers. Occasionally he threw a lemonade bottle too. By this means he had hit and partially stunned three majors, one sergeant, two lance-corporals and seven privates. The seventh had ungallantly shot at him, so Zachary threw a bag of ballast at him as well, just in case. The soldier was now in hospital and Zack was two thousand feet higher in the sky. So all was calm while he waited for the balloon to sink again. He wondered if it was a good opportunity to eat the sandwiches his wife had made for him that morning.
The afternoon wore on and it began to get dark. With the cool of the evening the Squadron Leader's balloon came down, and the breeze from the sea blew him back to the city, where he threw his anchor overboard and was soon hauled down. The captain handed over his watch to Mr Jones, the First Mate. The mechanics knocked off for the day - they had successfully taken the aeroplane apart and it was now completely useless, so they felt they had done a good job. The rebels were now pitching camp a few hundred yards outside the city wall, and at Castle Koffmikscher a trusted villain was bringing the Duke of Delphinium a nice bowl of nourishing gruel with gritty bits in it. His Majesty was trying out a new idea on Quangle.
"I say, Quangle," he remarked. "Don't you think it would be a good idea to move the capital somewhere else, or to build a new one? Flopford isn't really very well situated."
"It is in the middle of the country," said Quangle cautiously.
"What do you think, my dear," said His Majesty to the Queen, who was doing a crossword.
"Why not?" she said. "But what would you call it?"
"I haven't really thought," he confessed.
"Llydhyncoln?" suggested Quangle.
"Flopdudleigh?" suggested the Prime Minister.
"What about tea?" suggested the Queen, hearing movement at the door.
"Too short, I think, my dear ...." said His Majesty. "Oh, I see what you mean......"
REVOLUTION IN FLOPDOODLE
Chapter Eight
And the next morning?
The sun heaved itself into a clear blue sky from its dull red bath behind the Chargling Islands. Birds twittered happily in the lime trees, and woke His Majesty dozing at the Palace. And from a hill half-a-mile away an enthusiastic rebel with a small but well-aimed cannon landed a red-hot shot through his bedroom ceiling, and set his bedroom slippers on fire.
But General Wurzle still said that he did not have enough troops and for a week the rebels made no attempt to take the city by force. So after some hesitation the puzzled citizens went on with their everyday lives and even held parties. Which, especially at night, made excellent targets for the three rebel cannon on the hill. These fired as a matter of course every two hours and usually hit something, so people began to get quite nervous as the time drew near. No one was killed and very few injured, but one shot splintered the Royal rabbit hutches and His Majesty's new breed escaped and quickly lessened the supply of vegetables in the Royal household. Another hit the gasworks, which obligingly went on fire and burned for two days, giving such a bright light that the rebels hit the statue of St Wargle in Piffiloffsky Square three times running.
Apart however from these trifles they were quite happy, and when, at the end of the week, the Baron asked them if they wanted to surrender, the reply was an indignant "NO!" But then the besiegers took to throwing bombs over the walls and charging at the gates with battering rams. Then Zack took up his balloon when the wind was favourable and put two of the rebel cannon out of action. And the following day by a lucky chance Quangle landed a pail of boiling oil (complete with pail) on the former Earl of Fizzling Towers, who abandoned all thoughts of Revolution and retired to a most select nursing home.
Still, at the end of the second week, people were no longer so happy, and in the third week the fighting was much more serious. Siege towers had been brought up, so that hardly anyone was safe out of doors, and food was beginning to run short. His Majesty's rabbits returned to the dinner table, then to the tea table; they even appeared as sandwiches, and after a particularly good soup one day Her Majesty was quite unable to find her parrot.....!
Four weeks to the day after the start of the siege found His Majesty in anxious consultation with the Prime Minister and Quangle in the Drawing Room in front of a fire of bits of the old Coach House.
"First of all," he asked, "how much food is left in the city?"
"There is still enough for some three weeks of normal rations. I mean the sort of thing people normally eat. We could last a lot longer on a real starvation diet," replied the Prime Minister.
"The cook is talking about trying horse and rabbit pie," said His Majesty. "Equal parts: one horse, one rabbit. Poor old Dobbin." He turned to Quangle. "How are the defences?"
Quangle nervously ran his fingers through his hair. "That's just the trouble!" he admitted. "We've got rid of all their cannon now and all their apparatus for scaling the wall is pretty poor and useless, so they seem to have given that up for now. But the Main Gate was cracked last night, and we have had to strengthen it."
His Majesty looked glum. "Was it indeed?" he said. "Yes, but we have so much behind it already that it is not very serious. But that man Humblesson caught a man with the grappling hook this morning, and he said that they were thinking of tunnelling under the wall, which would be serious."
"It would indeed!" exclaimed the Prime Minister. "That is how t
he city was taken in the siege of 1523, when we were at war with Pifflia."
"And," said Quangle, "we can't afford to lose. Particularly now that they've got the Guillotine."
"Ah, yes," said His Majesty. "How true are all these rumours: and, if they are true, when did they start?"
"Oh," answered the Prime Minister, "I believe them to be quite true. They have executed about two hundred people so far for being 'anti-revolutionary' – mostly peasants who refused them food. The poor people have hardly enough for themselves, with this war going on!" he said indignantly. "Now you see, Your Majesty, what this country would be like without you."
"And now they are turning to the aristocrats. Is there not some story about a man who goes about rescuing as many of them as possible?" asked Quangle interestedly.
"Yes indeed! They call him the Yellow Dandelion as a joke because he has very fair hair, almost white in fact. He was in the Gugglian Revolution four years ago, but he wasn't as clever then as he is now."
"I seem to remember that". said His Majesty, getting up and going to the desk in the bay-window (it was late afternoon.) "I heard about him at the time." He opened the drawer and took out a faded newspaper. It was one of the back-numbers of the Flopdudlian News Gazette and on page 2·the following was silently exhibited:
"REVOLUTION IN GUGGLIA.
"Today 120 Gugglian aristocrats were executed by the Guillotine on the.Bridge of Death which crosses Lake l’Argile and connects the Ile de Desespoir with the mainland. Several aristocrats tried to escape, and were poked by the Guillotine Puller forthwith.
The Revolution became so fast and furious that at one time,14 aristocrats at a time were conveyed by the aerial ropeway across Lake l’Argile to be executed: among the victims were the King of Guggliam the Queen and the former Finance Minister, the Comte de Choucroute; also the Cardinal Archbishop of the Gugglian Church, two Dukes and three Bishops. Gugglia is now a Republic.
"LATEST NEWS.
"The Yellow Dandelion arrived at Bugford Harbour to-day in his high-powered tram, closely followed by M. Pushalong, the representative of the Gugglian Republic, driving the Guillotine Puller. The Yellow Dandelion boarded the paddle steamer 'Puffing Harry'; and left for Gugglia. M. Pushalong was, however arrested for exceeding the speed limit.
His Majesty shivered slightly.
"I do hope we're not going to see that sort of revolution here in Flopdoodle! This Yellow Dandelion, then, is back at work in this country? We might need him."
As there was no reply, he strolled back to the window and. looked out. Alll was quiet. The only thing moving in the whole panorama was a pale yellow balloon coming in from the sea.
"Well then," he put the question, "how long can we hold out before we get reinforcements?"
"From all points of view we can stand another week at least. That should be long enough. We got word by carrier pigeon from Dundurgan last night that they would have sufficient troops here to raise the siege in five days time, and then we can counter-attack."
The gong rang for dinner.
"Oh well, that's fine then. We have a treat tonight: horse and rabbit pie."
**********
Quangle had been sound asleep. but something woke him with a start. It was the clamour and bustle and shouting of a crown quite close at hand and in no very clear order nor decided state of mind. His bedroom curtains were undrawn and there was a red flickering glow as of fire which danced on the walls and ceilings. People were trampling about on the landings and stairs. But it was not even all this commotion that had attracted his attention; someone was in the room who ought not to be there.
In the far corner of the room there seemed to be a patch of deeper shadow which did not flicker but something moved there and, as he watched, there came an appealing, urgent whisper:
"Your Lordship, are you awake?"
Quangle debated, wavered.
"Who are you?" he asked.
Swiftly came the reply.
"I'm the Yellow Dandelion; you've heard of me. The city has fallen. The rebels are everywhere. We must get away. I've got the King, the Queen, and the Prime Minister safe already. Hurry!"
Quangle followed him through the trapdoor, remembering to close it after him. He was thinking of how a King he had read about had failed to close the door properly when hiding in a cupboard in the Palace and come to a most unpleasant end as a result. Also, more improbably, how Aeneas had been warned of the fall of Troy by the ghost of Hector. This was quite as sudden. and unexpected. He wondered how it had happened as he climbed carefully down the steel ladder.
“Here you are now,” said the Yellow Dandelion, and he found himself on a floor of some kind. His mysterious guide switched on a large electric torch, and they set off down a narrow tunnel made of stone and vaulted – and rather damp. At first the tunnel sloped downwards, but it soon levelled out.
“Who built all these passages?" Quangle asked.
“I don't know. They've been here for ages, and it took me a long time to find them all. You can get into nearly any part of the Palace from here. Or out, of course."
They had come out into a large space from which led several passages. There was also a large wooden door, and this the Yellow Dandelion opened to usher Quangle into a comfortably furnished room, where the others were already ensconced round a good log fire. He then went off to find the Prime Minister, and returned with him in about ten minutes. For the first time Quangle was able to get a good look at him. He looked very young and his hair was certainly a very pale colour.
“I'm hoping to get you away by rail if possible," he explained, "but you may have to go by balloon. I think you should be warned in advance, you understand. It should be quite easy for a train to get out of the city, but it does rather depend where you are going."
"I think we had best go to Fizzling Towers to try to rally some support, eh, Quangle?” said His Majesty.
“Oh, that’s all right, then,” said the Yellow Dandelion. “I have two trains ready anyway. Well, let's go at once, for we might be followed or suspected and have to take evasive action. Come on!" -- and the little procession followed the light of his torch down more corridors and passages, until, at last, he stopped suddenly.
“Here we are.” he said. waving his torch in front of him. It shone on railway track. When they stepped out into the railway tunnel they could see the lights of a carriage, and hear an engine busy getting up steam. “The driver, fireman and guard are of course friends of mine and have done this sort of thing before,” he said. “You can rely on them.”
While they climbed into the carriage (there was only one), the Yellow Dandelion went forward to speak to the driver.
“Are you sure it’s all right?“ whispered the Queen anxiously to the Prime Minister. “You know, we have never met him before; he might easily be working for the Revolutionaries for all we know.“
“Oh I think you have met him before,” came the reply. “But it’s better you don’t remember where. May I assist Your Majesty?”
He reached up his hand and assisted her up the steps into the carriage. His Majesty followed and Quangle brought up the rear. Her Majesty was holding up her hands in surprise.
“Why it’s one of the Day Coaches from the Royal Train!” she exclaimed. “Really, that man thinks of everything. I suppose the hamper contains food. And he has given us rugs and pillows too!”
The individual in question swung himself lightly into the coach and shut the door. “Just going now,” he explained. “We’re in a tunnel which runs under King Richard IV Street and Flopshire Terrace and joins the repair works in Squinchley Square with the Grand Terminus of the Flopford and South Coast and Eastern Districts Grand Trunk Transinsular Railway. It hasn’t been used for years, since they built a new works. I should think that very few people even know that it exists.” He was interrupted by a slight jerk, and a loud puff which echoed strangely in the tunnel; then the puffs merged into a continuous roar as the train gathered spee
d. “We’re just going out the easiest way,” he continued after a moment or two. “The barricades were all burned by the rebels when they got in about an hour ago.”
The light train swayed and rocked round a bend in the tunnel, the walls of which were already a formless blur. Then the lights went out. “How did the city fall?” asked Quangle curiously.
“They used a tunnel under the wall not far from the Imperial Bank,” said the Yellow Dandelion sadly, looking out of the window as they went round a bend in the opposite direction. “There was a sudden heavy attack on the main gate, and the garrison found themselves between two fires and had no option but to surrender. Then the rebels went through the streets hauling people who were staunch Royalists out of their beds and some were shot. A big crowd then attacked the Palace but were beaten off, as there were a lot of citizens there who rallied to the support of the Palace Guards.”
The tunnel roar ceased suddenly, and they were out in the open rattling over points.
“I have a friend in the signal-box to make sure all is well. I don’t think they’ll suspect him. I don’t want an accident!”
Looking out of the window, Quangle could see St Wargle's Crescent, an eligible site for superior detached villa residences. They were in flames. Some soldiers were sniping from behind a road-block at a ragged band of rebels. The next moment the scene was lost to view, and in its place was High Street, down which a high-powered tram was proceeding at full speed, laden with shouting Royalists on their way to the gates. The train drew away across the goods yard of the Grand Terminus, and in its turn High Street gave way to the station itself, where the flames were licking at the biggest glass roof in the country, lighting up the narrow-gauge trains waiting at the platform opposite. The mob were dancing round the fountains in Station Square, howling with rage. Or perhaps just having fun.
Now at last they were on the main line and all in the carriage were silent. On the footplate the driver wiped the sweat from his forehead with a lump of cotton waste, and put the regulator over to full ahead. If there were no barricade, all would be well; if a light one, they could break through it; if a heavy one, and at that speed...... All the sidings had begun to cross and to mingle until in the end there would be only two tracks both making for the black rectangular arch in the wall. As he watched from the footplate the last siding came to an abrupt stop on a pair of rusty buffers, and they were doing seventy-eight miles an hour, much more than any train that had ever left that station. A hundred yards now and they would be in the tunnel, at the other end of which lay - what?