The happiness shines brightly as thousands of Belsdanians crowd into the Palace courtyard, full of hope and new-found energy, ready to embrace the prosperity of their future. Their eyes are bright, their smiles wide, and the glory in their hearts bursts from every seam of their bodies. All wear their finest clothes – scraped together from whatever little that they have left. There is no fighting today: no squabbles, no arguments, no individual differences, even. Every face is friendly, every visage lit by merriment. The Dark Duke is gone. Farv is gone. And Rahavi sits in a cell, soon to be gone as well. It is the greatest day in the entire history of Belsden.
“Are you ready?” Taylor asks.
Rosemarie smiles. She takes his hand.
“I’m ready.”
Taylor signals to one of the sentries, clad in a new palace uniform of red and gold. It is Collin Cumber. He walks out onto the balcony. A moment later, the noise of the bustling crowd is brought to silence by the blaring of six magnificent trumpets.
Slowly and gracefully, Taylor and Rosemarie walk hand in hand out before the crowd below them. Behind follows an army of support, including John Miglene, Robert of Roth, Ezra Dunne, and Pommer. Next emerges the crouched figure of Winkle Pooglie-Wooglie. Limping but living, he takes his place by Pommer’s side.
The crowd below, thousands upon thousands, greets them with wild cheers. It is some time before Taylor is able to speak.
“My people,” he declares, “you have gathered here today to hear of the announcement of your new king…” He pauses to examine the many faces. “…But I am afraid that there will be no such declaration…” Again the people are confused. “For I will not be your king…”
A terrible stir grips the crowd. They begin to turn and blather amongst each other.
“Then who will be king?” asks a man.
The people take up his question, producing a rather large ruckus of noise. Taylor holds up his hand and slowly they come to a calm.
“Who will be king?” Taylor repeats. “Who will be king?” He smiles. “Why, no one will be king.”
Again the crowd stirs, with various “whats” and “hows,” producing an ever larger ruckus.
“Who will protect us?” yells a woman.
Taylor’s smile is broader than ever.
“That is a very good question.” he says. “Who will protect us?” The people stare up in oblivion. “Now,” he says, “I have said that we will not have a king…but I did not say that we will not have leaders…”
“Will there be a queen, then?”
“No,” Taylor replies, “there will be no queen, either.”
“Then who?” the man asks.
“Yes, who?” the people rejoin. “Who? Who? Who?”
Taylor lifts up his hand once again.
“The Who…” he declares, “…is You.”
The confusion reaches an all-time high now. The people turn and shout out in utter disarray.
“What’a’you tryin’ t’say?” someone hollers. “That we’ll be all on our own? With no one to protect us?”
“My people,” Taylor proceeds, “allow me to explain…
“For years you have suffered under the Dark Duke. He took your money, killed your loved ones, and suppressed your very freedom. And yet there was nothing that you could do…for the law of the land stated that he, as king, was able to do as he wished, and so you were all forced to follow.
“If I were to be king, my people, I would of course never harm you. But who is to say for my son? Or for his son? Or for his? Who is to say that another Dark Duke may not come along?”
The people are suddenly silent. They stare up with eager eyes.
“Here, then, is what I propose…” Taylor places his hands before him and leans out. “…From now on, you, the people, shall choose your leaders, just as the Greeks did years ago. I have set up with Robert of Roth a government wherein the people shall choose for themselves a Grand Leader, endowed with certain protective powers, as well as a Representative Delegation to make the laws. This plan will guard us against future injustice, shielding us from tyranny such as that of the Dark Duke.”
There is a moment of complete silence. The people have never been confronted with such an absurd idea, and it is confounding to them.
“Do you accept this government?” Taylor asks.
The crowd shuffles and whispers. Many wave their hands and shrug their shoulders. Suddenly, up steps John Miglene. His presence silences the crowd, and he speaks out in a loud, clear voice:
“For the position of Grand Leader,” he declares, “I nominate the hero of our independence…Taylor James!” His hand shoots up into a fist. “Do I have a second?”
“Second!” screams Winkle.
“A third?”
“Third!” yells Robert.
“And the people?” says John, spreading wide his arms.
“Aye, aye! Aye, aye!” comes the chorus from every man, woman, and child.
“Do you accept?” John asks, turning back to Taylor.
Taylor looks to Rosemarie. Their eyes connect.
“If…” he says, “…and only if…Rosemarie agrees to do it with me…”
The crowd grows quiet as he kneels down before her. From his pocket he pulls a small black box, which he opens to reveal a plain gold band.
“Will you marry me?” he asks.
Rosemarie nearly bursts out of her person. She throws her arms around Taylor’s neck and squeezes with all her love. Tears of joy begin to stream down her face.
“Yes!” she proclaims. “Oh, yes, Taylor! I love you so!”
The crowd lets out a roar, stamping their feet and screaming their approval, as the two stand and raise their hands in unison. Some throw their hats, some toss their children in glee, laughing and shouting Oh, happy, happy day! What a glorious event! What a glorious time! Long live Taylor James and Rosemarie! Long live John Miglene! Long live Robert of Roth! And long live our great, free nation!
The noise will not die down for a full twenty minutes, when finally Taylor and Rosemarie step back into their happy new home.
…………………………………………..
The rest of the day was spent feasting in joy. Music played, children laughed, and strangers danced merrily together in the street. All were happy and all would stay happy. It was a day for the beyond, beyond all days. And it would last forever…
THE END
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