Back in Royal Kidnap Central, as the Granarchist is insisting on calling the room where she and her gang of anarchists are currently holding the King Phantomime, more plotting is a-foot. It would be nice if part of the plotting involved someone turning on the lights but the anarchist kidnappers are making do with the lights on their 'phones until they are certain they haven't been followed during their escape.
‘What exactly is your plan?’ says the King Phantomime, seeing no reason to be coy about his predicament. 'Am I in this for the long haul? Will you be sending bits of me back to my family to encourage them to pay a ransom, for example? Only I've always been rather fond of my ears, despite them being of substantial size and a bit sticky-outy...'
‘Ha!’ says the Granarchist. ‘Like we would tell you our plans. What we are going to do is none of your Royal business.’
The King Phantomime shrugs his shoulders. ‘Well, it’s not like I
am in a position to tell anyone, is it?’ he says. He wishes he could see better, so he could start plotting a potential escape route. As a victim of kidnap - which certainly wasn't part of the original 'Impersonate the King' contract - he is intent on being proactive in his bid for freedom. He is skilled at escaping difficult situations and does not intend to be outwitted by this one. ‘Where are we, exactly?’ he says.
The Granarchist eyes him suspiciously. 'You mean, you don't know?' she says.
'It's rather dark,' points out the King Phantomime. 'And also, I have a terrible sense of direction. We could be anywhere as far as I know.'
‘Hmmm,’ says the Granarchist, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. ‘Well, just for now, do us all a favour, sit there and be quiet.’ And she points to a seat at the far end of the room.
Deciding that discretion is the better part of valour at this juncture, King Phantomime tentatively makes his way in the dark and gloom to the seat. He notices that the carpet beneath his feet is thick, completely muffling his footsteps. That's good for a silent escape, he thinks. The room is very big. Also good, because when there are only four of you in a kidnap equation, large spaces make it difficult to be caught. There also appears to be several hefty chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and we all know how much the Phantomime loves a good chandelier!
As the King Phantomime reaches the chair, which is situated at the top of a few thankfully wide and shallow steps, the realisation dawns on him that the chair is, in fact, a rather sumptuous, upholstered in velvet, throne! The Grand Kidnap Central is
actually the Buckingham Palace Throne Room. The irony is not lost on him.
‘I knew it!' he says to himself. 'We’re still in Buckingham Palace.' He settles on the throne, deciding to sit and listen, something he is most skilled at from
his days haunting the opera house.
‘What’s next, then?’ says Nick Louse. 'And have we got any food? I'm starving.'
‘We wait a few hours,’ says the Granarchist. ‘Let the tension build, discombobulate the family, let the press get hold of the news. And then we send our ransom demand.' She fumbles in her pocket. 'I can offer you either a bag of Monster Munch or a few wine gums.'
Nick Louse grunts. The Monster Munch are very tempting but he has been trying to cut back on his ultra-processed food intake. 'No thanks,' he says. 'I'll wait. But make sure you put in an order for some fresh fruit and veg on the ransom note. And nuts,' he adds. 'I'm rather partial to a nut.'
‘Ow much cash are we asking for?’ says Anna Kissed, impatiently. ‘Zis ‘ad
better be worth my while. I ‘ave a very expensive designer ‘andbag ‘abit to fund.’
‘The monetary side is immaterial,’ says the Granarchist.
‘It bloomin’ well isn’t,’ mutters Nick.
‘It is!’ snaps the Granarchist. ‘It pales against the
demands we are going to make for the abolition of the Monarchy. Oh, don’t you
worry,’ she continues, noticing the miserable faces before her, ‘you’ll be
well-rewarded for your part in all this. But the true glory lies in the success of the Revolution!
Comrades, we are on the verge of making the world a republic. Down with
Royalty. Down with privilege! Down with exploiting Cornwall as a marketing tool for
selling expensive biscuits and organic honey!’
‘I suppose,’ says Nick. ‘But what do we do with 'im in the
meantime?’ and he tosses a nod back at the King Phantomime who is perched
casually on the throne, studying his nails and softly whistling, ‘There May Be
Trouble Ahead.’
‘Oh, ignore him,’ says the Granarchist. ‘Well, keep an eye
on him, obviously, to make sure he doesn’t do anything tricky, but mostly
ignore him.’
'Can we at least put on some lights now?' says Nick.
The Granarchist considers the matter. She is pretty certain they haven't been followed and the door to the Throne Room has been barricaded by her handy 'My Little Crowbar Set - Expandable to Cover All Your Leverage Needs.'
'All right,' she says. 'But not too many. I can do some knitting whilst we wait,' and she produces from her rucksack the partially completed sleeve of a nice pink cardigan.
'Aaaah, just like Madame Tussaud sitting at the foot of la Guillotine, waiting for the 'eads of the aristocrats to fall,' says Anna Kissed, fondly.
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