The Young Dictator

by Hughes, Rhys

  “Did the aliens have a secret weapon?” Jenny cried.

  The Queen laughed. “No, I was only kidding! I know exactly what this noise means. The palace is giving birth!”

  Jenny’s eyes bulged. “Really?”

  “Yes, yes, it’s all utterly normal and natural. This is how new palaces come into the world. Let’s go outside.”

  “Why should we go outside?” wondered Jenny.

  “It might get a bit messy if we stay in here,” said the Queen.

  They went outside again. The palace was shaking all over. Suddenly a dark object popped out from a wall.

  Jenny peered closer. It was a baby palace!

  “But there’s something wrong with it!” groaned the Queen.

  “What do you mean?” asked Jenny.

  “It’s covered in hairs! I’ve never seen such a hairy palace! How is this even possible? It’s a kind of mutant!”

  Jenny clicked her fingers. “The beard that Old Young Eyes left in the spherical chamber that was the womb!”

  “Oh, he left a beard in there, did he?” said the Queen.

  “Yes. It must somehow have influenced the design of the baby palace. So now it’s hairy all over. But harmless.”

  The Queen rubbed her chin. “But what use is a hairy palace?”

  Chairman Meow came running over.

  “I’ll have it!” he shouted. “It’s a perfect residence for me!”

  And so it was. Jenny laughed.

  She felt a hand tapping her shoulder. It was Maya. “Tell me, Jenny, if they don’t find Gran’s body, what will you do? Will you stay in London and live here at Buckingham Palace?”

  Jenny’s shoulders slumped. “To be honest, I’m tired of being in a big city. I think I’ll probably go back to Carrington. It’s more relaxing there, despite the existence of Mum and Dad, but I’m sure Gran’s broken body will be located eventually, won’t it?”

  Maya walked away. Jenny watched her depart.

  Moonmoths, Umbrellas and Oranges

  Jenny said goodbye to Maya, Old Young Eyes, the Queen and Chairman Meow. It was a sad occasion and yet on some deep inner level she felt an enormous sense of relief. She was clearly happy to be leaving behind her complex life, with its temptations of power, interstellar wars and all that brutal kind of stuff, to begin a new phase.

  A return to simplicity, that’s what she needed! As the train pulled out of the station, she leaned through the window, waved to her friends, then sat back down and stared at the empty seat opposite. It was one of those old-fashioned trains with individual carriages and she wasn’t sure if she wanted someone to share with her or not.

  As it happened, the choice was made for her. A little man opened the door and entered and took his place opposite her, but he kept staring out of the window and refused to meet her gaze. He was dressed all in green and the knuckles of his hands were like shiny knots of wood. The curious emotional vibes he emitted intrigued Jenny.

  “Excuse me,” she said, “are you going to Carrington?”

  “Yes, I am,” he responded curtly.

  Jenny hesitated. Then she blurted, “Are you a goblin?”

  “A goblin!” he swivelled his head and frowned. His eyebrows were as green as his boots but his eyes were different colours, one blue, the other brown. He snarled, “Do I look like one?”

  “Actually, I’m afraid you do,” admitted Jenny.

  “I’m not! And that settles the issue!” His bottom lip drooped and there was an anxious moment in which it seemed he might start crying. “I am not, nor ever have been, a goblin!” he spat.

  “It wasn’t meant to be an insult,” apologised Jenny.

  “An insult? I’m certainly not insulted! But I bet the goblin is and that’s all I intend to say on the matter!” he said.

  “So there is a goblin somewhere?” she persisted.

  “Indeed, there’s always a goblin somewhere! But where, that’s the real question! Where is he? Can you guess?”

  “I’m sorry to say that I can’t,” Jenny confessed.

  “Here, here! He’s here!” shouted the little green man, unbuttoning the flap of one of the bulging pockets of his jacket. A miniature head popped out of the pocket and blinked at Jenny. It had a long nose, bulging eyes, a warped mouth and pointy ears but it didn’t look menacing in the slightest. It sniffed the air and withdrew its head.

  “He’s my assistant,” explained the bigger man.

  “Your assistant?” Jenny prompted.

  “I manufacture and fix clocks. I’m a ticktocker, as we call ourselves in the profession. We use goblins as assistants because they can climb inside the mechanisms and do delicate repairs where humans can’t fit. You must be very naïve if you didn’t know that!”

  Jenny nodded sombrely. “I am naïve, you’re right about that. I haven’t had a normal life, you see. Instead of doing the things the average girls of my age do, I became ruler of the galaxy.”

  “Humph! Well, don’t expect me to have any sympathy for you. I have got lots on my mind and I always put my work first. I’ve been given a big job in Carrington and I need to think about it before I arrive, so I will ask you now to stop bothering me, thank you.”

  Jenny was dismayed by his grumpiness, but she decided not to make it an excuse to start an argument. She polished an apple on her cuff, bit into it and chewed thoughtfully. Outside the window, the suburban houses of London raced past in a blur of grey and green. A small dark cloud drifted over the gardens, keeping pace with the train, and rained almost bashfully onto their carriage. Then the man said:

  “Not that it’s any of your business but my name is Frampton Plunk. I am the best ticktocker in the country.”

  Jenny pretended not to be listening to him.

  The train reached Carrington after a couple of unexplained delays. Jenny leaned out of the window on one occasion to see why they had stopped in the middle of nowhere but there was no obvious reason. The driver and a couple of ticket inspectors were sitting on the verge cooking a vegetable curry on a portable camping stove and when it was ready they ate it all up without offering any to the passengers.

  “I don’t know what the country’s coming to!” Jenny said.

  This remark roused Frampton out of his reverie and he snarled, “What do you mean? It’s drifting westwards. That’s geology for you. Everybody knows that the continents move about.”

  “I meant it as a figure of speech,” explained Jenny.

  But Frampton was muttering to himself, “And do you happen to know why the continents move about like that? It’s because they’re powered by clockwork! I know it sounds ludicrous but it’s true. I had to repair one of the springs once. Massive, it was, bigger than a town, really hard to get it fully wound! But I’m the best at my job.”

  “Doesn’t your goblin ever feel claustrophobic being stuck inside your pocket?” Jenny asked, trying to change the topic. The rattle of plates and spoons outside suggested that the feast was over. Sure enough, the train once again started chugging down the line.

  Frampton ignored her. It must have been a daft question.

  Jenny’s stomach rumbled. She was hungry. One apple for such a long journey simply wasn’t enough. She decided to distract herself by thinking deeply about something other than food.

  She soon found herself wondering about Gran. Her body hadn’t been found and this was worrying, because it meant that Gran might still be out there and plotting revenge. Chairman Meow had told Jenny not to panic, that no one could have survived his ice rays and that everything would be peaceful from now on. After all, he should know. He was from the future, where the world still existed in one piece.

  “All the same,” Jenny had pointed out, “my Gran is devious and clever and it’s a bad idea to underestimate her.”

  Chairman Meow had merely yawned and shrugged.

  He wasn’t really interested in this…

  Jenny shook her head to clear it of the disturbing image that filled it, a giant face floating towards he
r through utter blackness, the face of Gran herself, laughing but full of savage fury!

  The train lurched to yet another halt. Jenny was about to voice a loud complaint but a guard walked up the connecting passage shouting at the top of his voice, “Carrington Station!”

  “So we’re here at last,” said Frampton sourly.

  He stood up and was out of the carriage before Jenny could stir. His little legs moved with incredible agility.

  She followed him and passed through the barrier and into the streets of the town. She was rather glad she wouldn’t be seeing any more of the odd green fellow. He seemed a somewhat unfriendly and arrogant sort of man and she was tired of people without manners.

  Before heading back to the house where her parents lived, she visited a sweet shop and bought some soft toffees.

  Stuffing them into her mouth, she gnawed six with the teeth on the left side of her face and seven with the teeth on the right side; she felt like an untamed beast, a lion or hippo, as she worked her way through them. No toffee stood a chance against Jenny Khan!

  Yes, that was better! A proper meal at long last…

  Then she strolled towards the street where she had grown up, though it now seemed a very long time ago that she had played here. Her mum and dad might cause trouble when she appeared, of course, but she would deal with problems when they arose, not before.

  In the meantime, she planned to enjoy this sentimental walk along the streets of her childhood, even though she was still a child and shouldn’t really be allowed to be nostalgic. But there was nobody to stop her and it wasn’t a major crime in this town anyway.

  She turned a corner and saw her old house in the distance.

  It hadn’t burned down or anything!

  That was lucky. Some changes are for the worse.

  She reached the gate, went up the driveway, rang the bell on the door and had to wait for no more than five seconds before it was opened. Dad was standing there and he was grinning.

  “Jenny! What a surprise! Come inside, come inside!”

  She was shocked and rather pleased.

  “Is that grin for me?” she asked.

  But he shook his head and said, “Don’t be foolish. I wouldn’t grin at you. No, the reason I’m grinning is because I’m happy, so happy that I’m unable to express my joy properly. I feel I’m going to explode. It’s done at last. It’s finished, ready, completed!”

  His enthusiasm was infectious. “What is?” squeaked Jenny.

  “My matchstick model of mum!”

  Dad had been working on this model for more than ten years and he had expected it to take at least another ten more; but lately he had been able to spend a lot more time on his hobby, eight hours every day in fact, and so the estimated time of completion had been considerably shortened and in fact the last matchstick had been put in place last night. Jenny squinted at him and scratched her head in confusion.

  “Why have you been able to spend more time on it?”

  “Because your mother left me,” he replied.

  “What do you mean?” Jenny stopped scratching her head; the itch that had been there had escaped down the back of her neck and was creeping down her spine to a spot she couldn’t reach, where it would be safe from her fingernails. Why do itches migrate?

  Maybe it’s because they are looking for work?

  Dad shrugged but gave the answer:

  “She ran off with a man she met at the supermarket. I don’t even know his name and I can’t be sure they actually ran. It seems equally probable to me that they walked or maybe hopped.”

  “So you’re not married to her anymore?” cried Jenny.

  “Oh, yes, we’re still married. What we are now is separated. I expect we’ll get divorced eventually, but there’s a lot of paperwork and I really can’t face that right now. So let’s change the subject! The model’s much better than the real thing anyway,” said Dad.

  “I see.” Jenny didn’t really know what to feel at this news, so she tried not to feel anything at all. “May I come in?”

  Dad was astonished. “What for?”

  “I plan to live here again, that’s why. Is it really any of your business? I hope my old room hasn’t changed?”

  Dad laughed. “No, I don’t think so.” He backed into the house. “Your decision to move back is probably the wrong one, but who am I to pass a judgment on such matters?” He beamed.

  Jenny realised that undiluted triumph at his successful completion of his model had made him feel a little drunk.

  “I suppose you want to show me the model?” she asked.

  Dad nodded. “Why not? Good idea!”

  Jenny said in a resigned voice, “Let’s go up to the attic then. You can expect an honest appraisal from me…”

  “No need for that,” Dad said blithely. “It’ll come down to see you in a few moments.” His eyelids flickered.

  Jenny was concerned. “Are you unwell?”

  “I don’t think so. Why ask?”

  “It’s just that you seem delusional. How can a matchstick model come down the stairs by itself? It’s not alive, is it?”

  “Don’t be silly! Of course it isn’t! But it is a robot.”

  “I beg your pardon?” said Jenny.

  “A robot, a clockwork automaton,” clarified Dad.

  “You fitted a clockwork mechanism into it? I didn’t know you had the skills to do that. I’m very impressed!”

  Dad snorted. “Sorry to disappoint you, my girl, but the clockwork part is nothing to do with me. I hired a professional. He came all the way from London and arrived about fifteen minutes ago. But he’s a fast worker and he said the work wouldn’t take very—”

  He was interrupted by a voice coming down the stairs.

  “All finished now! It’s ready!”

  Jenny gasped as he saw Frampton appear. The goblin was sticking out of his open pocket and its face was smeared with grease. Clearly the work had mainly been done by the assistant.

  Dad was overjoyed. “Thank you very much, Mr Plunk!”

  “A pleasure,” sniffed Frampton.

  “How much do I owe you?” enquired Dad.

  “One hundred pounds,” said Frampton. The goblin giggled and twisted itself deeper into the pocket. Dad took out his wallet, opened it and made a sad face as a large moth flew out.

  “That’s a moonmoth,” he explained.

  “They aren’t legal tender,” pointed out Frampton.

  “What does that mean?” asked Jenny.

  “Acceptable money. You can’t pay with moths.”

  “Of course not! Of course not!” muttered Dad as he patted all his other pockets, looking for alternative wallets, but he didn’t have any. The most he could manage was £3 in tarnished coins.

  Frampton pursed his lips and whistled a low note.

  “That won’t do, won’t do at all. I’m afraid I’ll have to go back up into the attic and take out the mechanism.”

  Dad fell to his knees. “Please don’t, Mr Plunk!”

  “I’m an honest craftsman, I’ll have you know,” hissed Frampton, “and I don’t take kindly to being cheated. All the way from London I travelled, in the company of this horrid young lady too!” And he bared his teeth at Jenny, who poked out her tongue at him.

  Dad looked at Jenny pleadingly. “I don’t suppose…”

  Jenny rolled her eyes in exasperation.

  She felt an urge to sort out this embarrassing situation as efficiently as she could, so she extracted her purse from her pocket and pulled out five crisp £20 notes and handed them to Frampton. He nodded at her, snatched them in his overlong fingers and said:

  “Thank you. Good day. We’re off to our next job.”

  And he left the house and moved down the driveway with superhuman speed, jumping the closed gate with ease and vanishing down the road in a swirl of dust and dead leaves. It was like watching a film that had been speeded up. Jenny wondered if Frampton was a clockwork robot too, one that had constructed itself in top s
ecret…

  “Do you want a nice cup of tea?” Dad asked her.

  She didn’t, but she nodded anyway.

  They sat in the kitchen and waited for the kettle to boil, but they heard a strange noise high above them, coming from the attic. It was footsteps but not the kind of footsteps that any human or animal might make. It was an unnaturally wooden sound, as if a scarecrow was moving around up there. Then it began descending the stairs.

  Dad rubbed his hands together. “She’s on her way!”

  Jenny asked, “Do you really think it’s wise having a moving model of Mum on the loose? You know what she can be like at times. It seems to me that you might have miscalculated.”

  Dad shook his head. “The model isn’t at all like the original. It doesn’t shout or have moods. It never shrieks.”

  “Maybe it has other qualities that are even worse?”

  “We’ll soon find out!” cried Dad.

  A shape loomed in the doorway. And then into the kitchen lurched the wooden robot. Jenny noticed for the first time that the matchsticks from which it was constructed were all tipped with red, rather than burned out and blackened. Was this entirely safe?

  “How shall we communicate with it? Does it speak?” wondered Jenny as the model took more steps forward.

  “Of course it doesn’t speak. Get real! It’s wooden!”

  “Cats speak,” asserted Jenny.

  Dad turned to stare at her. “What?”

  “At least one cat does,” insisted Jenny, but she didn’t press this point further, even though Dad chuckled ironically, because the wooden robot diverted all her attention. It waved its arms and it became clear to Jenny that it was trying to play charades.

  “So that’s how it gets messages across!” she announced.

  Dad nodded. “Purely logical.”

  “I still don’t understand what she’s saying.”

  “Something about drinking your tea before it gets cold, I think,” said Dad, leaning forward and studying the gestures intensely. It was obvious he intended to give himself the role of official interpreter to the thing and this was fine from Jenny’s point of view.