by Kari August
“You still want to go to it tonight, after the day we’ve had?”
“Absolutely. Don’t you?”
Ned sighed and considered the question. Perhaps a walk back into town would do him some good—help him forget the day’s events. On the other hand, he didn’t look forward to Dickie’s reaction when he saw the play, not if what Ned heard about the work was actually true. Even if Ned was still not convinced Dickie was actually Richard III, it was becoming clear that Dickie thought he was, and not just playacting a part.
After a moment more of contemplation, Ned finally decided they might as well get the viewing over with. “Sure, let’s go. We’ll leave right after we finish eating.”
A couple hours later, as Dickie and Ned sat in their seats, waiting for the play to begin, they heard a commotion to their right. Dickie recognized the teenager from the grocery store the previous night as he playfully wrestled his friends for the aisle seat. Dickie waved and said, “Hi, Cody. Want some popcorn? Ned decided to splurge on some.” He smiled at Ned teasingly before he stretched the bucket over the aisle toward Cody.
Cody grabbed a handful before slumping in his seat. “Thanks, Dickie. By the way, if you’re wondering, I’m only here because I have to be for a class assignment.”
“Well, I predict this will be brilliant. Just you watch.”
Bells softly rang, the audience hushed, and the curtains parted. Out walked a grotesquely hunched-over actor, dragging a lame leg, with a crooked-appearing arm.
Dickie whispered to Ned, “Who’s that supposed to be? A Lancaster?”
Ned cleared his throat. “Uh . . . I think that’s supposed to be you.” Ned winced as if out of sympathy for him.
Dickie quickly stood. “What?”
Ned pulled him back into his seat. “I tried to warn you, Dickie. If you’re going to watch, you’ll need to remain quiet or we’ll get kicked out of here. On second thought, perhaps we should just leave right now.”
Dickie blew out a long breath and crossed his arms. “No, we’re staying. Let me see what all this nonsense is about.”
Dickie fumed in complete silence as he watched the actor portraying himself first plot to take over the throne while his brother Eddie was still alive, and then slyly induce Annie into marrying him for her money. Dickie scoffed. How predictable. These were accusations that could have been written about any number of monarchs. Was this supposed to be entertaining?
Dickie glanced over at Cody. Apparently not. Cody was passed out in his seat, head thrown back with his mouth gaping open, while some of his buddies flirted with the girls in the row in back. Good. At least these slanderous lies were not being spread to the next generation of youth.
Further on in the play, Dickie reached for another handful of popcorn, but could barely swallow each bite as he was accused of killing his brother George. Now, this was beyond outrageous. How could anybody possibly think George’s death had been his doing? A royal act was required to execute a prince of the realm, and Eddie had been king at the time. He handed the bucket of popcorn back to Ned, appetite gone.
Dickie watched with ever-growing concern as, shortly after being crowned king, he was accused of killing his nephews. Of course, there had been rumors to that effect during his own time, but it still really hurt to see the accusations played out onstage five hundred years later.
After a particularly offensive line of dialogue, Dickie blurted out to Ned, “I didn’t say that!”
He threw his arms out to emphasize his point and inadvertently knocked over the popcorn bucket, spraying kernels over several seats around them. Ned quickly whispered apologies as the redheaded grocery-store clerk, who was sitting in the row in front of them, glared at them both. Dickie evaded her scowl and looked to his right.
Cody, now obviously awake, chuckled and gave a thumbs up. Cody then whispered loudly across the aisle, “I knew this would blow.”
Dickie nodded sagely back. “How astute of you, Cody.”
As lie piled upon lie, Dickie could barely keep still in his seat. But neither could Cody and his friends, it seemed. Now they were switching seats around with the girls in the row in back of them. An usher headed down the aisle and said something softly to the young people. Dickie couldn’t hear what was being said, but apparently it was not to their liking. When the usher walked back up the aisle, they all snickered.
As timing would have it, and much to her chagrin, their laughter was just when the actress portraying Dickie’s sister-in-law finished her overly emotional diatribe. Dickie smiled smugly to himself. Served her right. He never had really liked Eddie’s wife in real life, either. He blamed her for influencing Eddie in all sorts of bad decisions and passing out too many favors to her own relatives.
But as more distorted truths and untruths unveiled themselves, Dickie began to think he wouldn’t be able to tolerate the play any longer. Finally, at long last, an intermission commenced, giving Dickie a respite from his churning emotions.
During the break Ned asked Dickie again whether he would like to leave early.
Dickie considered the question a moment before answering, “No, Ned. I can’t possibly be faulted for any further bad behavior while I reigned as king. Let’s stay.”
But Dickie had forgotten about the accusations concerning his having an affair with his niece. He couldn’t concentrate on what was being said onstage for a while, too upset that none of his positive accomplishments were being shown. At last, the final scenes of the play were being acted out. He pulled himself together and watched intently. Surely he would be shown fighting bravely to the end.
But no. He wasn’t to be given even that. Dickie was enraged. While the actor who portrayed Henry Tudor depicted that man as being courageous and righteous, Dickie came off as little more than an incompetent, frightened king before the final battle.
It was the last straw. It was beyond humiliating. What Dickie had always been able to take pride in was his expertise in battle. He had proven himself as a trusted warrior time and again. He had been absolutely hailed as a hero after winning back Berwick from the Scots during Eddie’s reign. Why, if a king wasn’t a renowned warrior, he was nothing. Dickie had had enough. As soon as the lights came on, Dickie stood and started striding quickly toward home.
“Dickie, wait up.” He turned around and watched as Ned scurried to catch up. “I’m sorry. It was worse than I possibly imagined it would be.”
“It’s not your fault, Ned. Let’s just get home and I’ll talk to you about it then.”
Dickie slammed the door shut with a resounding bang as he entered the cabin. “Cocksblood! Who is this whoreson named Shakespeare?”
Ned ran his hand through his hair. Dickie was really upset, and he wasn’t sure what he could say to make him feel any better. “Well, he’s considered to be one of the best playwrights of all times.”
Dickie snorted. “You’re kidding, right? He didn’t know what the hell happened at all. It was a rubbish pile of lies, I tell you. Why, if he had dared write that treasonous nonsense during my reign, I would have hanged him.” He stripped off his shirt and showed his back to Ned. “Here it is. Here is my godforsaken deformity. I have a spine curved like an S. That’s it. It never stopped me from performing my duties as the Duke of Gloucester or the King of England. I’m not hunchbacked; I have no lame leg nor withered arm.”
Ned raised his hand to try to calm Dickie. “I’m sure some of the performance tonight was based solely on the director’s interpretation of the play. Possibly you’re not always portrayed as so deformed.”
“Who was the director tonight?”
“Oh, this local named Nickie Molleaux.”
“Molleaux. Sounds French! That explains a lot.”
“Nickie is actually a really good person. He runs the local television station and produces documentaries about Rocky Mountain National Park that are really well-done. I especially like the one about—”
“Ned! The important point here is that if that whoreson Shakespea
re had not written the play, Frenchie Molleaux wouldn’t have had anything to interpret, now, would he?”
Ned frowned slightly. “That’s true. But in fairness to William Shakespeare, he was writing about a hundred years after you passed away, and relied on the written historical record for information.”
“What written historical record?”
“See, that’s where the real problem arises. Henry VII and Henry VIII hired the historians to write the record, so of course what was written portrayed you in the worst possible light, whereas the Tudors were depicted as practically choirboys, and that certainly wasn’t the truth. Then, to add to the damage, the printing press became popular during this time period and anything written was more easily spread. Basically your reputation for the last five hundred years stems mainly from what was written during the Tudor reign.”
Dickie pursed his lips and nodded. “So it comes back to the Tudors. They’re obviously the first who need to be taken care of. What Tudor do we need to eliminate now, Henry the Fiftieth?”
“That’s not necessary. No Tudor is in power.”
Dickie smiled. “Why? What happened?”
“As I said, Henry VII was lucky enough to sire a son, Henry VIII, but it was during Henry VIII’s reign that things really started to turn sour. See, Henry VIII fathered only a daughter with his first wife, so he divorced her—”
“He divorced his queen?”
“Well, annulled the marriage, actually. He got away with it by breaking from the Catholic Church and forming his own religion.” Dickie’s eyes widened. Ned continued. “But basically it took Henry VIII six wives before he fathered two daughters and a son. I think he found it was more efficient to stop divorcing and just cut off the heads of some of the wives he no longer desired. Anyway, his son was sickly and died young, so his first daughter succeeded to the throne after Henry VIII died. Her nickname was Bloody Mary, because she killed people who wouldn’t return to the Catholic religion. She died without children, so her sister Queen Eliz—”
“No, let me guess. She couldn’t have any children either.”
“Her nickname was the Virgin Queen, because she never married even though she reigned for close to fifty years.”
Dickie was laughing. “She must have been one ugly, obnoxious queen not to be able to find a husband.”
“It was her choice not to marry. I think after witnessing her father’s behavior, she was a little wary of men.”
“So which York took over then?”
“Not a York.”
“Noooo. Not back to the crazy Lancastrians.”
“No. A Stuart came into power.”
Dickie’s mouth dropped open. “The Scots are on the English throne?”
Ned couldn’t help smiling. “No, actually now there is German lineage on the throne.”
“German Barbarians? This is worse than I thought.” Dickie started pacing back and forth, hands behind his back. “Forget about saving my reputation for now. We need to save England!”
Ned frowned. “What do you have in mind?”
“What any warrior king would do. Attack!”
Ned sighed and shook his head. He knew he should probably nip Dickie’s line of thought right now, but he was compassionate enough to realize that it would just be another blow for the man tonight. Besides Dickie was clearly so excited. At least it took his mind off his other troubles.
Dickie stopped pacing and looked at Ned. “Of course, a coalition force would work best. Who’s your king?”
“We don’t have a king. The leader of the United States is called a president. He’s elected by the people.”
“Good Lord. Where’s his primary castle?”
“Not a castle. He lives in a house.”
“Just how small is this country? Your ruler is elected by commoners, lives in a simple abode. . . .” Dickie let out a huge breath of air. “Well, we’ll just have to make do. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Dickie reached for the old landline phone Ned’s grandmother had installed in the cabin and brought it over to the dining room table. Ned sat down across from him. “Wait, Dickie. You can’t just call the president and say you want to attack England.”
Dickie shook his head and smirked. “Give me some credit, Ned. And don’t forget I completed Herman’s intensive lessons on the twenty-first century.” Dickie raised his hand in supplication. “Let me handle it.”
Ned just knew this wasn’t a good idea, but he couldn’t find it in himself to put a stop to Dickie’s eagerness.
Dickie picked up the phone. “Now, let’s see. Herman told me I could get anyone’s number from . . .”
Ned sighed. “Hit four-one-one.”
Dickie smiled. “That’s right. Here goes my first phone call!”
Chapter Nine
A woman with a very nasally voice answered, “Sixteen hundred Pennsylvania Avenue. How can I help you?”
Dickie could barely contain his excitement. “Is this the president’s house?”
“Yes, it is. How can I be of assistance?”
Dickie smiled briefly at Ned, and then, in his most authoritative voice, said, “I need to talk to the president.”
The woman cleared her throat. “He’s busy right now. Can I take a message?”
“Yes, tell him His Royal Highness Richard III is calling.” He gave a reassuring wink to Ned. Dickie frowned slightly as Ned started banging his head on the table. Dickie continued. “I need to talk to him about ousting the German barbarians from the English throne.”
“I see.”
“Tell him I have experience leading the main division. He can take the vanguard, but we’ll need to discuss who should command the rear guard.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Inform him that I’ll take care of the weaponry.” He picked up the modern sword that he had bought earlier in the day from the tabletop and read the label: Made in Japan. He then reached for the dagger: Made in China. “I’ll call the villages in Japan and China to ask who their best blacksmiths are.”
“Sir, I have an important question. Are you interested in bombing the Germans on the throne?”
Huh? Dickie pondered a moment. Just what were bombs? He decided to play along. “Advise him the rear guard can handle the bombing.”
Ned suddenly looked up.
“The president usually uses the FBI for the rear guard. If you’ll hold just a minute, I’ll connect you to them and you can inform the FBI all about handling the bombs.”
“Sounds good, but don’t forget to have the president call me also.” Dickie put his hand over the mouthpiece and talked to Ned. “Now we’re getting somewhere. She’s connecting me to the FBI to discuss bombs.”
Ned jumped up. “Oh, shit.” He grabbed the phone out of Dickie’s hand and forcefully hung it up.
Ned could barely sleep that night, dreading the phone call or visit he knew he was going to get from the FBI. When the phone rang early the next morning, his hand shook as he answered, “Hello?”
“Edward, is that you?”
“Grandma Sally?” She was the only one in the family who used his formal name. Her voice sounded crackly. She must have been calling from her cruise ship.
“Edward, I am so ashamed of you. Why, if I weren’t old friends with the head of the FBI, and he hadn’t decided to take this case personally, I don’t know what would have happened to you. Just what got into you thinking you could make prank phone calls to the government?”
Ned stated the obvious: “They must have traced the call to your cabin.”
“And just who is this English cousin of yours who is staying with you? He certainly must be some kind of bad influence. The Estes Park police pulled him over for speeding yesterday, and I heard how your car was smashed up.”
Wow. That news traveled fast between departments. But Grandma Sally wasn’t finished. “Just how much did you two drink last night before you made that ridiculous call? Once I assured my friend that I was going to give you a serious talking-to, I
got the impression that this whole thing was going to blow over. Luckily for you, young man.”
Ned decided it really didn’t matter whether he clarified that it wasn’t actually him, but Dickie who had made the call, so he simply stated, “It won’t happen again, Grandma.”
“I should certainly hope not. Now, I know that you’ve been under a lot of strain lately, but I would think a stay in Estes Park would do you good.”
“Honestly, it’s great.”
“Do you know what the most worrisome thing about this whole matter is?” She didn’t wait for Ned to answer. “What if you’re starting to act as irresponsibly as your father? I can’t even count how many scrapes I had to pull Burt out of. And Buff was no better! I just hope your cousin Clarence is behaving himself. I think I’ll give him a call next and check in with him.”
“Tell him hi, Grandma. And don’t worry. I promise I’ll behave myself.”
“All right, Edward. You know I love you dearly and only want the best for you.”
“I know and I love you, too. Bye, Grandma.”
Ned hung up the phone to find Dickie standing in his bedroom doorway. “What’s on the agenda today, Ned?”
Ned frowned. “I’m going to a class on wildflowers and you’re doing nothing. No running around town making weapon purchases, no encounters with sheriffs, no deer hunting, and absolutely no phone calls.”
“Can I watch television?”
“Yes, you can do that, but nothing else until I get back from my class.”
“What channel is Frenchie Molleaux on? It’s always a good idea to get to know your adversaries better.”
Ned rolled his eyes. “I don’t think concentrating your efforts on Frenchie is going to improve your reputation any.”
Dickie looked concerned. “Just how are we going to improve my reputation?”
Ned blew out a long breath. “I really don’t know. I’ll need to think about it. Perhaps if you had an agent or a public relations specialist working on your behalf, they could help.”
