Something rotten

'Forget something?' I asked.

'Yes. What was that cake of your mother's?'

'It's called Battenberg.'

He got a pen and made a note on his cuff.

'Right. Well, that's it, then.'

'Good.'

'Right.'

'Is there something else?'

'Yes.'

'And—?'

'It's . . . it's . . .'

'What?'

Emperor Zhark bit his lip, looked around nervously and drew closer. Although I had had good reason for reprimanding him in the past — and had even suspended his Jurisfiction badge for 'gross incompetence' on two occasions — I actually liked him a great deal. Within the amnesty of his own books he was a sadistic monster who murdered millions with staggering ruthlessness, but out here he had his own fair share of worries, demons and peculiar habits — many of which seemed to have stemmed from the strict upbringing undertaken by his mother, the Empress Zharkeena.

'Well,' he said, unsure of quite how to put it, 'you know the sixth in the Emperor Zhark series is being written as we speak?'

'Zhark: End of Empire? Yes, I'd heard that. What's the problem?'

'I've just read the advanced plotline and it seems that I'm going to be vanquished by the Galactic Freedom Alliance.'

'I'm sorry, Emperor, I'm not sure I see your point — are you concerned about losing your empire?'

He moved closer.

'If the story calls for it, I guess not. But it's what happens to me at the end that I have a few problems with. I don't mind being cast adrift in space on the imperial yacht or left marooned on an empty planet, but my writer has planned . . . a public execution.'

He stared at me, shocked by the enormity of it all.

'If that's what he has planned—'

'Thursday, you don't understand. I'm going to be killed off — written out! I'm not sure I can take that kind of rejection.'

'Emperor,' I said, 'if a character has run its course, then it's run its course. What do you want me to do? Go and talk the author out of it?'

'Would you?' replied Zhark, opening his eyes wide. 'Would you really do that?'

'No. You can't have characters trying to tell their authors what to write in their books. Besides, within your books you are truly evil, and need to be punished.'

Zhark pulled himself up to his full height.

'I see,' he said at length. 'Well, I might decide to take drastic action if you don't at least attempt to persuade Mr Paige. And besides, I'm not really evil, I'm just written that way.'

'If I hear any more of this nonsense,' I replied, beginning to get annoyed, 'I will have you placed under book arrest and charged with incitement to mutiny for what you've just told me.'

'Oh, crumbs,' he said, suddenly deflated, 'you can can't you?'

'I can. I won't because I can't be bothered. But if I hear anything more about this I will take steps — do you understand?'

'Yes,' replied Zhark meekly, and without another word he vanished.

19 Cloned Will Hunting

OPPOSITION LEADER MILDLY CRITICISES KAINE

Opposition leader Mr Redmond van de Poste lightly attacked Yorrick Kaine's government yesterday over its possible failure to adequately address the nation's economic woes. Mr van de Poste suggested that the Danish were 'no more guilty of attacking this country than the Swedes' and then went on to question Kaine's independence given his close sponsorship ties with the Goliath Corporation. In reply. Chancellor Kaine thanked ran de Poste for alerting him to the Swedes, who were 'doubtless up to something', and pointed out that Mr van de Poste himself was sponsored by the Toast Marketing Board.

Article in the Gadfly, 17 July 1988

Sunday was meant to be a day off but it didn't really seem like it. I played golf with Braxton in the morning and outside work he was as amiable a gent as I could possibly hope to meet. He delighted in showing me the rudiments of golf and once or twice I hit the ball quite well — when it made the thwack noise and flew away as straight as a die I suddenly realised what all the fuss was about. It wasn't all fun and games, though — Braxton had been leaned on by Flanker, who, I assume, had been leaned on by somebody else higher up. In between putting practice and attempting to get my ball out of a bunker, Braxton confided that he couldn't hold off Flanker for ever with his empty promise of a report into my alleged Welsh cheese activities, and if I knew what was good for me I would have to at least try to look for banned books with SO-14. I promised I would and then joined him for a drink at the nineteenth hole, where we were regaled with stories by a large man with a red nose who was, apparently, the Oldest Member.

I was awoken on Monday morning by a burbling noise from Friday. He was standing up in his cot and trying to grasp the curtain, which was out of his reach. He said that now that I was awake I could do a lot worse than take him downstairs where he could play whilst I made some breakfast. Well, he didn't use those precise words, of course — he said something more along the lines of 'Reprehenderit in voluptate velit id est mollit', but I knew what he meant.

I couldn't think of any good reason not to, so I pulled on my dressing gown and took the little fellow downstairs, pondering on quite who, if anyone, was going to look after him today. Given that I had nearly got into a fight with Jack Schitt, I wasn't sure he should witness all that his mum got up to.

My mother was already up.

'Good morning, Mother,' I said, cheerfully, 'and how are you today?'

I'm afraid not during the morning,' she said, divining my unasked question instantly, 'but I can probably manage from teatime onwards.'

'I'd appreciate it,' I replied, looking at The Mole as I put on the porridge. Kaine had issued an ultimatum to the Danish: either the government in Denmark ended all its efforts to destabilise England and undermine our economy, or England would have no choice but to recall its ambassador. The Danish had replied that they didn't know what Kaine was talking about and demanded that the trade ban on Danish goods be lifted. Kaine responded angrily, made all sorts of counter-claims, imposed a 200 per cent tariff on Danish bacon imports and closed all avenues of communication.

'Duis aute irure dolor est!' yelled Friday.

'Keep your hair on,' I replied, 'it's coming.'