The Arrival of Richard III

by Kari August

Dickie looked perplexed. “I don’t understand.”

  “You need to hire someone who is skilled at spreading the word that you were good, not evil, the way the Tudors wanted everyone to believe. In other words, you need somebody to represent you.”

  “Ah . . . I see what you mean. But why can’t you do that?”

  “It’s not my field of expertise. Let me think on the topic some more. Perhaps I’ll be able to come up with some other ideas.”

  “Sure, Ned. Enjoy your class.”

  Ned returned home three hours later to find Dickie in front of the television. “Have you been watching all this time?”

  Dickie stayed glued to the television, not turning his head to address Ned. “Yes, first I observed Frenchie for a while, but then I moved on to other channels and found a home shopping television show. It’s on TBN, the Television Buying Network.”

  Dickie turned his head briefly toward Ned and smiled. “I found just the person to represent me! Dougie, from Dougie’s Kitchen Korner.”

  “What?” Ned sat down on the couch next to Dickie.

  “Just watch him. Isn’t he great? He can make anything look good. We should get a set of those Temptingnation casserole dishes. I think I agree with Dougie—the purple ones are the prettiest.”

  “We don’t need any casserole dishes.”

  “I didn’t think so either at first. But look, you can take them right from the oven, directly into the freezer, seal the tops with no leakage, and buy them on an installment plan.”

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “I’m going to give Dougie a ring and see if he’ll represent me.”

  Ned looked to the ceiling. “I’m sure he won’t even take your call.”

  Dickie turned back to Ned. “Oh, yes, he will. I’ve figured out the secret to that. All I’ve got to do is tell TBN that I’m a new customer, I want the casserole dishes in all the different patterns, I want one set for myself, one for my neighbor, and one for my mother, and I’ll be put through.”

  Ned was aghast.

  Dickie tried to reassure him. “Oh, don’t worry, Ned. There’s one hundred percent customer satisfaction or we can return them.”

  Ned shook his head, but let Dickie place the call, making a note to himself to cancel the order before they could even be shipped out. At least this time they wouldn’t land in jail. Ned watched as Dickie explained to TBN what he wanted. He frowned as Dickie said, “No, I don’t have any grandkids or pets.” Well, that certainly was strange.

  Chapter Ten

  Dougie was on a roll today. His last three products had completely sold out and this current supply of casserole dishes was on its way to becoming a success story as well. He loved his job. Loved the merchandise he sold, loved the fans who bought his goods, and loved being the top salesperson on TBN. Of course, he’d been at the network for the last fifteen years and had learned a thing or two about plugging items.

  But really, if Dougie was to guess what his winning recipe was, he would have to say it was always being cheerful and kind to the customers, explaining the benefits of the wares clearly and succinctly, and, of course, his dance. Years ago he had started groovin’ in a disco kind of motion whenever he was really fond of a product, especially a food item. The fans enjoyed it and the phones would ring off the hook for an item right after he performed the funky number. And naturally he had learned never to overdo it. Perhaps only once or twice a selling session would he bite his lower lip, move his arms rhythmically, and swivel his hips.

  All was grand in Dougie’s Kitchen Korner except for one minor issue—the receptionist who screened the incoming calls. The Witch—Dougie really wasn’t into name-calling, but if the name applied—knew about the unspoken rules and chose not to follow them. Everyone who worked there realized that it was best if Dougie didn’t take calls from grandparents with a zillion grandkids and pet owners who wouldn’t stop talking about their beloved critters. Not that Dougie had anything against grandkids and pets. Quite the contrary—it was just that he had to keep the show moving; he was there to sell the merchandise. He couldn’t listen to who had just taken their first step or what trick Fido had just performed. Last night one customer had even said she wanted to buy the veggie burgers because her dog loved them! What could he say to that?! But the topper was the call just following. The woman had put her grandkid on. That brat had said the burgers tasted terrible, before the woman had grabbed the phone back.

  And why did this witch of a receptionist keep putting through these undesirable calls? Because Dougie had integrity, that’s why.

  Everything that Dougie sold, he fully believed in, and when the Witch had pulled him aside to ask whether her brownies were possibly good enough to be sold as an item on the show and Dougie had found them dry as dirt, he had politely and gently told her no. That had started her in action. Well, tonight his producer had guaranteed to him that she would personally screen the incoming calls, and so far everything was going smoothly.

  Dougie got the signal for another caller. A brief description of the person was relayed to him. His producer gave the thumbs-up that the call was good.

  Dougie beamed. “Okay, audience, let’s talk to our new customer from Estes Park, Colorado, and hear what he has to say. Hello, this is Dougie, from Dougie’s Kitchen Korner.”

  “Hi, Dougie. I’ve been watching your show today and I think you’re tremendous.”

  “Why, thank you. And your name?”

  “Oh, it’s Dickie.”

  Dickie? Dougie briefly glanced at his producer from the corner of his eye. She had screened this call, hadn’t she? “Welcome, Dickie, to the show. Which pattern of casserole dishes did you choose to buy? The dainty daisies, luscious limes, or our new pattern, the leaning lilacs?”

  “Well, in truth, Dougie, I’m not really interested in the casserole dishes. What I really want is you. You’re just what I need.”

  Dougie’s eyes widened and his producer quickly motioned to the tech to cut the call. “I’m sorry, audience; we seemed to have lost the connection with our new customer. . . .”

  Back at the cabin, Dickie’s mouth dropped open; he was perplexed. He stared at the phone while Ned bent over laughing.

  The next morning, while he sampled some of Dickie’s Eggs Viennese, Ned pulled his computer in front of himself at the table, and remarked, “You know, Dickie, I’ve been thinking about it. This project of yours, trying to repair your reputation, is too big a job for just the two of us, even if you did find someone to represent you. I think we should contact that society in England that was started about a hundred years ago in order to clarify your life and times.”

  Dickie walked from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his pink apron, and sat down across from Ned. “There’s a whole society formed just for me? Why, Cousin, how come you didn’t mention this before now?”

  Ned tapped on his keyboard. “Well, because I don’t think everyone’s opinion in the group would be to your liking. Not every member of the society agrees on the same principles.”

  “Such as?”

  Ned looked up and paused. “Well, some of them think you killed your nephews.”

  Dickie frowned. “You mean after I took over the crown?”

  Ned nodded slowly.

  Dickie voice rose. “You mean after I found out they could not possibly inherit because it was revealed that Eddie had precontracted himself in marriage before he wedded his false queen? Those same illegitimate nephews?”

  “Correct.”

  “How absurd. Murdering my own nephews. I thought only the Lancastrians were capable of believing such rubbish. Oh, I should say, only the Lancastrians and that idiot Shakespeare. When I get to heaven, if I ever see that scoundrel Shakespeare—”

  Ned interrupted. “You had placed them in the Tower for safekeeping, I believe.”

  “It was considered one of the most secure royal residences at the time.”

  “But they were no longer seen after about a month.” Ned resumed searching on
the computer, not quite able to hold Dickie’s gaze.

  “Ned, look at me. You don’t honestly think I killed my own nephews, do you?”

  Ned glanced up, but continued typing. “No, especially after getting to know you better.” Good God. The answer had just popped out automatically. As if Ned had finally decided Dickie was Richard III. Ned briefly closed his eyes. Perhaps he was going crazy himself, and yet . . .

  Dickie clutched his chest. “Family loyalty was everything to me! ‘Loyaulte me lie.’ ‘Loyalty binds me.’ That was my personal motto. I was never unfaithful to Eddie, unlike my brother George.”

  Ned stopped searching on the computer and met Dickie’s eye. “Yeah. It never seemed likely to me that someone who was so devoted to his brother would then turn around and kill his kids. I’ve always thought it made the most sense that the boys were spirited away to safety and seclusion. Why else would their mother have eventually made her peace with you and sent her daughters to you for safekeeping? Besides, if you were going to kill your nephews so they would no longer be a possible threat to your crown, then you would have had to kill George’s son also. But you didn’t, even though it would have been easy to reverse the judgment held against him because his father had been sentenced for treason.”

  “What ever happened to little Edward? He was a sweet boy, much shyer than his father, George.”

  “Henry VII held him prisoner for years and then finally trumped up some charges against him and had him killed when he was in his twenties. Henry was known as a very suspicious king. I think he always knew his claim to the crown was weak.”

  “So Tudor kept poor Edward a prisoner from an early age?”

  Ned nodded. “He held him captive from age eleven on.”

  “Never playing with other children again, nor riding his horse freely in a hunt or allowed to court a maiden. How cruel! What about George’s daughter?”

  Ned glanced down briefly. “She was sentenced for ridiculous reasons by Henry VIII, screaming and pleading her innocence all the way to her death.” He looked up and shook his head. “But the executioner was incompetent. He had to hack at her multiple times before he managed to kill her.”

  Dickie became paler. “Good God. And my sister’s son, John de la Pole, the Earl of Lincoln? He would have been my heir after my own son.”

  “He lost his life in battle, rebelling against Henry VII a few years after he took the crown.”

  “Oh, an honorable death. Good for him.”

  Ned gazed at Dickie and hesitated, not sure whether Dickie wanted to know about his other relations.

  Perceptive as always, Dickie asked, “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Well, your mother lived until about age eighty, devoting her life to religious duties after your death.”

  “Incredible that whoreson Tudor would leave an old defenseless woman alone.”

  “Yes, but he did execute John of Gloucester when he was only twenty-one.”

  Dickie frowned and sighed. “My dear bastard son? Who had no possible claim to the crown?”

  “Dickie, I’m sorry to add, he also never married and left no descendants.”

  “Oh.” Dickie visibly swallowed. “What about my daughter Kate, John’s younger sister? I wed her to the Earl of Huntingdon and gave her a lavish wedding. . . .”

  Ned shook his head. “No children either. She died a couple years after your own death.”

  Dickie nodded slowly. “I see.”

  Ned got up and grasped Dickie’s shoulder. “You and your family lived in a truly brutal and dangerous time.”

  Dickie spoke softly. “I left no grandchildren. My line died out.”

  Ned returned to his seat. “Not unless there are more illegitimate children historians do not know about.”

  Dickie said nothing in return, but got up and started washing the dishes in the sink. Ned caught him wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. What was there to say that could possibly make Dickie feel better? It was history already lived that nobody could do anything about now.

  Ned went back to searching on his computer, wanting to return to their original topic of finding a society to help Dickie with his reputation. After a moment, Ned exclaimed excitedly, “Hey, what’s this?”

  Dickie dropped the dish towel and walked back to the table. He looked over Ned’s shoulder. “What?”

  “Here’s some new society formed in your name. It looks as if they’re a splinter group from the original society. They’re called the ‘Clear Richard III’s Name Society.’ Oh, and read their mission statement.”

  Dickie leaned over and recited aloud: “‘We believe that Richard III never killed his nephews. . . .’” Dickie looked up and beamed. “Let’s contact them. See what they can do to help me.”

  Ned smiled. “They might just be the people who can assist the most. At least we should check them out.” Ned rubbed his mouth. “Face-to-face contact would be best.”

  “You mean travel back to England and meet them? Brilliant! When do we leave?”

  “Not so fast. You would need a passport, and we would need plane reservations. . . .”

  Dickie ran up the stairs to his bedroom. Ned heard him rustling through his things before Dickie jumped down the stairs and plopped a passport in front of Ned. Ned’s brows rose. “Wow. Herman thought of everything, didn’t he?”

  “This will be an excellent opportunity to not only scrutinize this new society, but to also do some reconnaissance on the German barbarians before the president returns my call.”

  Ned was back to his computer, looking for plane reservations. “I told you to forget about that, Dickie. Oh, look. What luck! There are a couple of super-reduced tickets leaving out of Denver tonight for London. Somebody must have turned their tickets in.”

  “I’ll begin packing.” Dickie picked up his sword and mace from the tabletop and started heading up the stairs again.

  Ned held up his hand. “Whoa, Dickie. You absolutely cannot bring any weapons with you.”

  Dickie turned back around on the stairs. “What? Go unarmed?!”

  “You heard me, or we’re not going.”

  Dickie frowned and shook his head. “This twenty-first century has turned men into a bunch of pansies.” Ned heard Dickie muttering to himself the rest of the way up the stairs.

  Perhaps so, Ned thought. But at least we don’t go around imprisoning innocent children and butchering old ladies.

  Ned paused a moment. What was he doing? What was he doing? This trip that probably would turn out to be nothing more than a folly was going to take a significant chunk out of his dwindling savings. And yet he knew he was going to do it—continue to let himself be swept away by events and Dickie’s engaging personality, and more important, continue to not get back on track and deal with his own problems.

  But so what? He wanted to help his cousin nineteen times removed. Because though Ned had started with just a nagging thought that Dickie was telling the truth, he was gaining conviction every moment he spent with the man.

  Chapter Eleven

  “So, what’d you think of your first plane ride?”

  Dickie glanced around the bustling London airport terminal before he answered, “You mean after they confiscated my dagger? How’d they find it, anyway, stuck in my hiking boot?”

  Ned sighed. “Metal detector. You’re just fortunate they only told you to put it with your check-in luggage and you weren’t detained. I told you not to bring any weapons.”

  “It was slow.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The plane ride was endless. Herman should teach you how flying is really done.”

  Ned shook his head. “Come on. Let’s get our baggage and take a taxi to our hotel.”

  It was a lengthy ride, filled with traffic jams the whole way to their destination, but what really made the trip seem longer was Dickie’s suddenly quiet mood. Once they were settled into their hotel room, Ned asked, “Dickie, why are you so subdued?”

  Dickie
turned around from staring out the window. “Somehow it was less remarkable seeing this century in your country. I mean, I had never been there before, so I couldn’t appreciate the changes as much. But I know London. This place is barely recognizable.”

  Ned gently smiled in sympathy. “It’s a huge sprawling metropolitan area. Perhaps you’d feel more grounded if you went on a sightseeing tour. I’m sure we could find one that would take you to all the original old buildings. Hey, why don’t you do that after we check out this society’s headquarters?”

  Ned walked over to the desk in the living space positioned between their two adjoining rooms. He picked up the stand-up brochure on top. “Here’s one that’s called the Total Tour. It leaves by bus from our hotel in a few hours and returns you back here later this afternoon. Perfect. I’ll call the concierge to set you up.”

  Dickie blew out a long breath. “Sure, Ned.”

  Ned frowned slightly. He realized now how much he had taken as a given Dickie’s usually upbeat attitude. He couldn’t even imagine all the emotions that must be hitting the man right now.

  He asked gently, “Dickie, do you miss your home and family?”

  Dickie lifted one corner of his mouth sorrowfully. “More than you could know.”

  Ned sat down on a nearby chair. “What were they like? You’ve never told me.”

  “My wife, Annie, was . . . pretty to me. Kind and faithful. And wise in the ways of the world, beyond her years. How could she not be, with a father such as the one she had? Her first marriage her father, the Kingmaker, had arranged with the heir of Henry VI when she was around fifteen, after her father had rebelled against Eddie and needed new alliances.”

  “Henry VI was the Lancastrian King whom Eddie dethroned before he reigned.”

  “Correct. Anyway, Henry VI’s heir, Annie’s first husband, was known to be a cruel, callous sort of being. She never loved him, and I don’t think she suffered much when he met his demise battling Eddie for the crown. But she loved me. That I am sure of.”

  “And your son, Edward?”