The Mouse On The Moon: eBook Edition (The Grand Fenwick Series 2)

by Leonard Wibberley

  "As leader of Her Grace's Loyal Opposition," said Bentner, "I ask permission to point out to the House that in my interruptions of the Prime Minister, I meant no disloyalty whatever to Her Grace."

  The speaker grunted, whispered to the clerk of the House, and Mountjoy, who now had Bentner at a disadvantage, went on.

  "I am going to take the unusual step of asking that for the next several minutes the House consider itself as a committee sitting in camera. We can resume the open debate upon the budget later. But the details I wish to produce now should be the more effective if they are kept secret from Her Grace, for the time being, though they can be released later. In short, I would like to surprise her."

  The Speaker consulted with the clerk and then glanced at Bentner, who, having been discomfited once, was not going to risk being discomfited again by raising an objection. He was no great parliamentarian and was constantly outmaneuvered in this department by the Count.

  "It is the sense of the House," said the Speaker, "that the open meeting upon the budget has been recessed until I summon it into session again, and the House is meeting now as a committee of the whole in camera." The clerk's goose quill squeaked as he recorded this in the official minute book.

  "Excellent," said the Count of Mountjoy. "And now to business which I would ask you to bear in mind is secret. Her Grace has expressed the desire to obtain an Imperial Russian Sable fur coat. As members are undoubtedly aware, Imperial Russian Sables are those furs of so high a quality that their use was once limited to members of the former royal family of Russia. The cost of a coat, full length, made of such furs would be in the neighborhood of sixteen thousand pounds—fifty thousand dollars in round figures. [There was a gasp at this, but Mountjoy plunged on.] This is the equivalent of the total financial resources of the Duchy of Grand Fenwick for one year, and funds therefore cannot be provided out of our own revenue without such a monstrous increase in taxes that it is not to be contemplated."

  "Hear, hear," said Bentner stoutly.

  "We are faced therefore with the situation of either having to deny our Duchess this request, or of obtaining the money in the form of a loan from the United States, repayable perhaps over a period of thirty or forty years and at a low rate of interest.

  "I am sure that members will agree with me that it would be a hard thing indeed if we have to go to our liege lady and tell her that this nation, over which she and her ancestors have ruled with such fidelity, love and devotion for six hundred years, cannot provide her with a fur coat. I myself have not the heart to bear her such a message, and I am sure that the members of the Opposition would themselves be unable to be the bearers of such tidings. It is not, I am sure, in the nature of the men of Grand Fenwick to deny their lady this request."

  In the short silence that followed there was a murmur about the Council chamber. Mountjoy, a good parliamentarian and very sensitive to the atmosphere of the House, was well aware that he had not all the members with him. He knew that men's minds may often be operated through their hearts, and when a matter might not be carried by an appeal to reason, then an appeal to emotion was the best resource. It was time to make an emotional appeal now.

  "Members may well ask themselves, though privately, whether this is not an unreasonable request of the Duchess upon her people. They may ask, and they may be forgiven for asking, whether there is not in this request some tinge of selfishness, of womanly vanity, unworthy of our sovereign lady and foreign to that sweetness and grace of character of which we have all been the beneficiaries. They may secretly inquire of themselves what services she has rendered; what sacrifices she has made, to put so heavy a request before her people.

  "My friends, let me attempt to supply the answers to these questions. Our sovereign lady is a woman in the full beauty of womanhood, who never before has put any onerous burden upon her people. Indeed, rather than ask anything of them, she has freely given to them all the gifts (and they are many) which she has at her disposal. Other women, of lower station, and I would venture to say of less strength of character and intelligence, may and, indeed, have carved for themselves brilliant careers in industry, in the arts, in letters, making the purchase of a fur coat such as Her Grace desires, something readily within their private means. These others own their lives, are responsible only to themselves, can use their abilities and their talents to promote their own career and their own fortunes. Completely free, no country in the world is denied them, no profession or career is closed to them. Their lives are their own.

  "Such is not true of Her Grace.

  "Her life, from birth, has belonged to her people. All countries are closed to her, for, in duty to her people, she must remain here. All careers, all professions—all use of her talents in the arts for her own advancement and satisfaction—are denied her. Her mind, her talents, her spirit, her ambitions, her hopes—all these she gives freely to her people here in Grand Fenwick.

  "My friends, she has given us, she continues to give us, her life in its entirety, freely making the loving sacrifice of sovereigns that every breath they draw belongs to their people. Are we to tell her that we cannot give her in return a fur coat?"

  "No! No!" cried the whole House led by Bentner.

  Mountjoy smiled, paused and looked around "There is one other aspect of this matter to be considered," he continued. "I will call it a political matter though perhaps the better word is patriotic. You are all aware, I am sure, of the great and beneficial impression which has been made upon the world by the wardrobe and personal appearance of the gracious wife of the President of the United States. You are aware, no doubt, also of the equally good impression made upon the world by the charming appearance of England's queen, Elizabeth II. We have a right to ask ourselves whether our own Duchess should appear less elegantly attired than these. We have a right to consider whether our own Duchess, in future visits to foreign countries, can properly represent her own dignity and that of her people and realm clad in a cloth coat—though of good hand-woven tweed."

  "No! No!" cried Bentner. "Never."

  "Precisely," said the Count of Mountjoy. "I take it then that the sentiment of the House is that I should be authorized to apply to the United States of America for funds sufficient for this purpose?"

  "Right," cried Bentner, glaring around at his supporters.

  "I thank you on behalf of Her Grace," said the Count of Mountjoy.

  "We shall require that in the form of a motion," said the Speaker airily.

  The Count of Mountjoy popped his monocle in his eye, glared himself at the Speaker, inspected the benches of the Opposition across the floor from him, and then with a twitch of his eyebrow permitted the monocle to drop, glittering like a diamond, to his waist where it swung suspended on a chain of little gold links.

  "I move," he said, "that the Prime Minister of the Duchy of Grand Fenwick be given permission to apply to the Government of the United States of America for a loan of funds sufficient to ensure the continuing prestige of Her Grace and of her people."

  The wording was curious but Bentner, anxious to redeem himself as a loyal and loving subject of the Duchess, promptly jumped to his feet and cried, "I second the motion."

  The vote was unanimous. The decision, to present the imperial Russian Sable coat to the Duchess on her birthday, which was the twentieth of October, and until then nothing was to be said further on the matter.

  The Count of Mountjoy and Bentner left the Council chamber in unusual accord, each with the sense of having performed a good day's work.

  CHAPTER IV

  The rude winds of March stormed across the eastern seaboard of the United States, howling over the flatlands of New Jersey, hissing and shrilling around the battlements of New York and flinging all into a turbulence as far inland as the national capital.

  Seated in his office in Washington D.C., the United States Secretary of State scowled at the flurries of rain and sleet that slashed against the windows opposite his desk, seeing in them a reflection of the f
uries at work in the world of international affairs—furies which his best efforts had failed to abate after three years in office.

  He envied his predecessors of a few decades back who had, for all the troubles of their times, lived in a world with a set and established number of nations, whose histories, economic needs and political ambitions were well known to them.

  How different matters were now! New nations were popping into being as fast as mushrooms under a full moon. Twenty independent nations had come into existence in Africa in one year alone—some of them the equal of, or even bigger than, some of the oldest nations in Europe. He frequently found himself called upon to advise the President on countries so new their boundaries were not marked on the latest maps, their leaders had, a year before, been unknown ten miles from their birthplace, and their economic needs, social backgrounds, religious and other conflicts were beyond the knowledge of any of his staff.

  Diplomacy in dealing with such countries had been reduced to a guessing game. And at the thought the Secretary smiled grimly. For, in a sense, diplomacy had always been a guessing game. There was no other way to account for the colossal blunderings of all nations throughout their histories, in their dealings with each other. You got together all the information you could, and then you made a guess. Brilliant diplomats were actually men with a talent for guessing right and the same was true of brilliant generals and brilliant presidents.

  To reduce the hazards of this guessing game, the Secretary of State insisted that all communications addressed to him from foreign governments should be brought to his attention only when accompanied by a full summary of all the pertinent facts. This summary of pertinent facts, obtained from the heads of particular "desks" in his department, was always forwarded to the Secretary of State in a Red Folder—the color of the folder indicating immediately that the information was complete.

  As many as a dozen of these Red Folders were placed on the Secretary's desk during the course of a normal day. There was a pile of them before him now and after contemplating the gloomy condition of both the weather and international affairs, the Secretary picked up the first of them.

  On it was a label reading "Duchy of Grand Fenwick." The Secretary frowned, experiencing a little tremor of anxiety, well aware of the trouble the United States had experienced, with this little nation in the past. He felt indeed like putting the Grand Fenwick folder aside and turning to the next, which was marked "West Germany" and which, despite the still unresolved Berlin question, might prove less explosive. But the Secretary was Vermont-born and his boyhood training, which had insisted that he never turn aside from anything which was difficult or unpleasant, got the better of him. He braced himself and opened the Grand Fenwick Red Folder, and started reading the topmost paper in it.

  This consisted of an official communication from the Duchy to the Government of the United States. It was written on the official stationery of the Duchy, with the ducal arms spread across the top. The seal of the Duchy, imprinted over a piece of green ribbon, was attached to the bottom with to the side of it, the signature "Mountjoy" written in an expressive hand. Below the signature was the title "Principal Minister of State to Her Grace, Gloriana XII." The document, as was the case with all communications from Grand Fenwick, was not typed but written in longhand and with a goose-quill pen. It was as neatly done as the original of the United States Declaration of Independence (the Count of Mountjoy had written it himself) and it carried with it some of the authority and indeed grandeur of that splendid document. The letter read:

  The Secretary of State

  Government of the United States of America

  Washington, D.C.

  Greetings:

  I have the honor to inform you that at a meeting of the full representation of the Council of Freemen of the Duchy of Grand Fenwick, held on March the fifth, the undersigned, as Her Grace's Principal Minister of State, was authorized to apply to the Government of the United States of America for a loan-in-aid, the precise wording of the enabling resolution being: "A loan of funds sufficient to ensure the continuing prestige of Her Grace and of her people."

  The amount sought to achieve this estimable purpose, which I am sure will he heartily supported by the Government of the United States (whose welfare we in the Duchy of Grand Fenwick have always close to our hearts) is $5,050,000. Of this sum $5,000,000 is required to finance a project to send a manned rocket to the moon and $50,000 is to be applied to the purchase of a fur coat for Her Grace the Duchess to surprise her on her birthday…

  "What the devil!" cried the Secretary of State aloud to his empty room when he had read this. "Five million dollars to go to the moon and fifty thousand for a fur coat. I've never heard of anything more nonsensical in my life."

  He flung the Red Folder down on the desk in front of him, flipped a switch on the interoffice telephone and snarled into it," Wendover, have the goodness to come to my office this moment." He flipped the switch back without waiting for a reply. In a matter of seconds Frederick Paxton Wendover, in charge of the Central European desk of the State Department, was in the Secretary's office, cool and collected and anxious to be of help.

  Frederick Paxton Wendover was known among his colleagues on the second level of the State Department hierarchy as a man to watch. They agreed that while he was hardly likely ever to become Secretary of State, being incapable of making a public utterance or of creating any warm personal impression on others, he was one of those whose knowledge and insight into foreign affairs, particularly Central European affairs, would provide sure guidance for many Secretaries less brilliant than himself.

  In his personal appearance he was as close to anonymity as a human being can achieve. Nobody, even the closest of his colleagues, could give a good physical description of him. There was a certain studiousness about him, and he gave people the impression of wearing rimless glasses and wire ear pieces. Many were surprised to discover on checking on this detail that he didn't wear glasses at all. He just looked like a man who wore glasses. He was of medium size and medium weight. He always wore suits of the same pattern and color. Some thought they were of dark gray and others dark olive. Actually they were dark brown, but again nobody had ever really noticed. His hair was fair and thin, his eyebrows so slight as to be scarcely seen, and he wore a small moustache which was his one vanity. But no one had noticed when he started to grow it and indeed it was hardly discernible upon his upper lip.

  The physical appearance of Wendover then lacked any cold or positive assertion. His temperament was as mild as his appearance. But his mind was better stocked in his own specialties than any other man's in the government. He had a tremendous grasp of the history and character of the Central European nations, spoke not only their various languages but dialects of their languages, knew their folklore as well as he knew their economics and was able to do that which it is so difficult for most Americans to do—think like a European while remaining an American. His loyalty to his own country was beyond question. His understanding of others beyond parallel. Even the sight of Wendover standing before him helped to quell the wrath of the Secretary of State and restored some order to his outraged mind. He beckoned him to a chair and stabbing with a finger in the direction of the offending Red Folder said, "I suppose this isn't some joke of yours?"

  It was typical of Wendover that he did not reply immediately, but instead picked up the Red Folder, opened it, glanced at the letter from the Count of Mountjoy and then said. "No, sir."

  "Well, what the devil is the meaning of it then?" demanded the Secretary. "I can't believe what I read. Five million dollars for a rocket and fifty thousand dollars for a fur coat? What in hell am I to make of that? Are they pulling some kind of a joke?"

  "Oh no, sir," said Wendover. "Mountjoy is in earnest, I am quite sure. You didn't read the full communication? …" There was a suggestion of a rebuke in the question.

  "No,” snapped the Secretary. "I did not."

  "I think it would be better if you read it thro
ugh, sir," said Wendover, and the Secretary picked up the Red Folder again and with a scowl at Wendover continued with his reading.

  In your approach to the Congress for the funds required [the letter continued], you will naturally require to know for what reason the Duchy of Grand Fenwick wishes to send a manned rocket to the moon.

  In several recent statements, your own President has supplied the main ground for this project, urging the internationalization of the exploration of space, and stressing that it would be disastrous if the quarrels of nations on earth should be extended to proprietorship of the moon. Commendable efforts have been made by the United States, working through the United Nations, to secure agreement for international control of the moon—but without effect. It is plain that the old law of discovery, granting prior rights to the first to land, is likely to hold sway in space.

  In these circumstances, Her Grace's government deems it a grave charge upon Grand Fenwick to intervene and to send a manned rocket to the moon at this point, so that a third power, representing nations other than the Big Two, is involved in the matter. This would have the effect of truly internationalizing the conquest of the moon as is the expressed desire of your President, and we are sure that the Congress will wish to implement the desire of the President by voting the necessary funds.

  The fur coat…