The Comeback of the King

by Ben Jeapes

  Robert sidled round the struggling pair to pluck Ted’s coat from its hook. Ted doubled his struggles and jabbed backwards with his elbows. They thudded into Barry and he almost got free, but Barry swore and tightened his hold around Ted’s midriff.

  “Take it to the car,” he grunted. “I’ll bring your brother.”

  Robert opened the front door and cold December air gusted in. The streetlights of Henderson Close stretched away like the road to freedom.

  “Okay!” Ted shouted. He stopped struggling. “Okay,” he gasped. He felt Barry relax his hold, very carefully. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”

  He turned round on the spot so that he stood nose to nose with Barry. His stepfather’s face twisted with suspicious hope.

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Ted whispered, and he brought his knee up with the force of a pile driver into Barry’s groin.

  Barry bellowed and collapsed like a deflating balloon, hands between his legs, face puce, teeth clenched like a grinning skull. Ted’s mum screamed his name. Ted backed away, shaking.

  “I’m sorry … I’m sorry–”

  He turned to the door for the final leap to freedom, and his heart broke all over again because Robert was blocking his way and the younger boy’s face was set and hard.

  “You’re going to see the King, Ted,” he announced. Ted felt tears pricking at the back of his eyes. His mum’s sobs were tearing at his heart and the act of violence made him feel sick.

  “Oh Christ, Robs, don’t make me hurt you too–”

  But Robert took a step forward, pale and trembling. He was several inches shorter than Ted and was visibly summoning courage. They both knew Ted was stronger but Ted could see he was going to obey the King if it killed him. And Ted knew he could never do to his brother what he had just done to Barry.

  Movement in his peripheral vision told him that Barry was trying to get up again. He only had a few seconds.

  “You’ve got to, Ted,” Robert said. And Ted grinned.

  “Yeah. I do.”

  He stepped forward and Robert had about half a second of realisation.

  “No-!”

  But then Ted was on him, digging his fingers mercilessly into his brother’s ribs. Ted tickled him all the way down to the floor while Robert shrieked “Stop it!” in a voice that was bumpy with giggles. Ted plucked his coat out of his brother’s hands, leapt over his quivering form and fled into the drizzling night.

  Chapter 7

  Oh shit oh shit oh shit …

  Ted’s feet pounded on the road.

  I just committed a serious assault!

  I am running away from my home!

  Arse to this King!

  He paused for breath at the end of Henderson Close and looked back at the lights of home, tensed to resume fleeing at a moment’s notice. Barry staggered to block the front door. Ted was already running again.

  He stopped, panting, at the corner with the main road. Arse! He had come this way by instinct. If he had thought about it he could have taken the town path across the water meadows into Salisbury. Barry could never follow him in the car that way and Ted could outrun him anywhere. This way Barry could catch him up in about thirty seconds. Where the hell was he going anyway? How far did he have to go to get out of the King’s reach? The nearest family, his aunt and uncle, were in Blandford. That was half an hour’s drive away. Was that far enough? Would the money in his pocket cover the bus fare? Maybe he would have to hitch there.

  He had probably just ruined his relationship with his stepfather forever. His mum would still want to talk to him. Probably. But he would have to move out. Get a room somewhere. No more family. No more cat. No more wireless internet. One small moment of violence had ruined his life forever.

  ARSE!!

  And there was still the minor problem of the King. If Ted was the only person in Salisbury immune to His Majesty’s commands then he was the only person who could do something about it …

  The car was pulling up beside him and his legs had started to run before he even realised what was happening. The driver beeped at him at the same time as Ted recognised the vehicle with a gush of relief. The passenger window slid down and the driver leaned over to call to him.

  “Ted! Get in!”

  Ted pulled the door open and fell into the Jaguar next to Malcolm.

  “Can you get me to Blandford?” he gasped as he tugged at his seat belt.

  “Blandford?” Malcolm sounded amused as the car pulled away again. “I suppose I could. What’s the problem?”

  “Oh, f– … Chr–” Ted had sworn at Malcolm, once, and been told very firmly that was the last time he would ever do it. And it had been. “I am so screwed. I’m homeless. Barry’s never going to take me back.”

  “That was quick. I only just dropped you off.”

  They had reached the main roundabout and Malcolm signalled left. The car joined the stream of red tail lights heading down the hill towards the city.

  “Um–” Exactly, Ted thought, Malcolm had dropped him off on the other side of the road and had last been seen driving away from Salisbury, heading back home. “Why are we going this way?”

  “Whatever the trouble is, Ted, I’m sure we can sort it out after the King has finished with you.”

  Stunned betrayal was like a jolt to the heart.

  “No!” Ted screamed.

  “He is the King, Ted. He’s told us to bring you to him.”

  Malcolm’s voice and profile – he never took his eyes off the road when he was driving – were calm and collected. He is the King. That was exactly what Inspector Stewart had said. It sounded so eminently reasonable. He is the King, therefore, he must be obeyed.

  Ted studied the road in desperation. The moment Malcolm stopped, he would be out of the car. Unfortunately, even though there was a queue of traffic the car kept moving.

  “And you’re my … my employer!”

  “I think you’ll find it’s implicit in your Terms and Conditions.”

  “You’re my friend,” Ted whimpered.

  “Well–” Malcolm almost seemed embarrassed. “Thank you, Ted, I’m flattered you think of me that way. But he is the King.”

  Inspiration struck, like a voice in his head whispering.

  “You’re my counsel!”

  Malcolm cocked his head thoughtfully and took just a little longer than before to answer.

  “As I think I said earlier, I was never formally retained–”

  Ted thrust a crumpled ten pound note under his nose. Malcolm squinted down at it, then gently pushed Ted’s hand away and signalled to pull over.

  “How interesting.”

  Ted tensed, ready to fling the door open the moment the car was still. If Malcolm wanted to continue this conversation he could do it with Ted out on the pavement. But then a muted click ran through the car, more felt than heard, and Ted’s heart sank even further. Malcolm had put the central locking on.

  Ted twisted back to the dashboard and scanned the lit-up controls. There were a lot of buttons to press. One of them was the central locking but he wasn’t sure which one. Meanwhile Malcolm was holding the bank note in both hands, studying it as if it were the first time he had seen a portrait of Queen Elizabeth II.

  “What’s the time, Ted?”

  Puzzled, Ted glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

  “A bit after six?”

  Malcolm paused to collect his thoughts.

  “That’s what it’s like. I asked, you told me. You didn’t quibble or argue, it was the smallest of favours, easily within your power to grant without the slightest loss or inconvenience – and so you told me. It was the same with the King. Bring Ted Gorse to the White Bear! I just knew that was what I had to do, and I knew where you were, and so I came to get you. It was as simple and as natural as you telling me the time. No reason to think twice about it.”

  He paused again. Ted still didn’t, quite, relax. He was still, with one eye, looking for the locking control
.

  “Until you just broke the spell. I wonder how you did that? You reminded me of one of my core beliefs, that every man has the right to representation … but presumably you reminded the inspector of her job?”

  Ted nodded vigorously.

  “And yet it had no effect. What changed this time?”

  Ted didn’t care. He just wanted to get out of the car.

  “I paid you?” he asked.

  “You did something.” Malcolm tucked the note away into an inside pocket. “Just in case this really is all that stands between tyranny and freedom, I’ll hang onto it. So, what do we do now?”

  He sat back in his seat and drummed his fingers on the wheel. Then he reached out and pressed something, and Ted felt the car unlock itself.

  “You’re free to get out if you like, Ted. Or I can drive you to Blandford … but do you know that the King’s influence doesn’t stretch that far?”

  Ted bit his lip.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I would love to meet him.” Malcolm drummed his fingers again. “Ask him who he is, where he’s from … but supposing he regains his ability to command me? Or supposing he has enough other people under his spell to overpower me by force? Or overpower you? And they would, believe me. If he told us to hang you from the nearest lamppost … I honestly believe we would. It would never have crossed our minds, until he told us, and then we would do it as easily as you just told me the time … Dear Lord,” he whispered, “that’s terrifying.”

  It wasn’t the thought of Ted being hung from the nearest lamppost that terrified him, Ted thought sourly. It was the bigger picture. A world where the only law was the King’s whim. That was what terrified the ex-barrister.

  And it didn’t make him very happy either.

  “You could phone him,” he suggested.

  “Yes–” Malcolm pulled his phone from his inside pocket and looked thoughtfully at it. Then he smiled and cocked an eyebrow at Ted. “You were trying to make a joke, weren’t you?”

  *

  The King’s scream cut through the revelries. Every one of the rejoicing royal subjects in the lounge stood and stared at their master as he broke free from the dancing. His face as he staggered towards his Queen was contorted and tears streamed down his cheeks. Only the mindless music played on, the unseen musicians oblivious to the disaster.

  The Queen was immediately on her feet, pressing through the crowd to reach her husband.

  “Continue,” she snapped. “Celebrate!”

  She led him over to their seats again while, slow and hesitant, the dancing began again.

  “I felt a royal subject go,” the King whispered. “I lost a royal subject.”

  “Mortals die, my love. You know that.” She gently guided him to sit down.

  “My love, since I returned this morning, nine of my royal subjects have died of age or illness or accident. I know it happens! And others come and go all the time, crossing the boundaries of my kingdom in their cars. That is part of the natural order of things. But, my sweet, I have had a royal subject taken from me! Taken! Once he served me. Now he serves another–”

  He rubbed his sleeve across his face to banish the tears. The Queen was pleased and relieved to see that they were tears of grief, not of pain. She was even more pleased that when he took his arm away again his face was set with a new resolve.

  “Whom does he serve?” she asked, though she could guess and she simply wanted to achieve the desired result.

  “I cannot say, but it would be a strange coincidence–”

  The King trailed off. A member of the hotel staff was picking her way cautiously towards the royal couple with a sense of purpose. The King’s hostile glare was enough to make the girl nervous but not enough to dissuade her. She was carrying one of those ubiquitous but baffling objects called a phone.

  “Um – Your Majesty? Sir? You, um, have a call–”

  The King took the phone, as he was obviously expected to, and looked at it, mystified. He put it to the side of his head as he had seen others do.

  “Yes?” he asked. Nothing happened. The girl coughed and made a very discreet, embarrassed kind of circling motion with her hand. The Queen took the phone, turned it the other way up, and gave it back to the King. Suddenly there was a voice speaking in his ear, clear as day.

  “Hello? Hello? Anyone there?”

  “Yes,” said the King. He pulled his head back in surprise and looked at the small hole the voice had come out of. Then he realised the voice was still speaking and put the phone back to his ear.

  “–the King?”

  “What?”

  “I said, am I speaking to the individual who calls himself the King?”

  “You are speaking to the King,” said the King, with a mildness that made the Queen perk up hopefully because she knew it could presage an outburst of royal anger. The King was having none of this ‘calls himself’ nonsense. He was the King and that was it.

  And since no royal subject would address him that way … The King began to suspect who might be behind this call. He strained his senses to see if he could feel anything, anything at all about this man. There was nothing. Whatever power the phone used, it completely divorced the voice from its owner.

  “I represent Mr Ted Gorse,” said the stranger.

  “I thought you might. Do you have a name of your own?”

  The caller ignored the question.

  “We have some questions to ask you. I would have been interested in a face to face meeting but under the circumstances – well, this seemed safer.”

  “Questions,” said the King. The stranger seemed to take it as licence to proceed.

  “Who exactly are you? Where are you from? How did you get here? You might have gathered we weren’t entirely expecting you.”

  The King snorted. “Where am I ‘from’? Where is the land you stand on ‘from’? I was here when the first men followed the retreating ice. They expected to find me, and so I emerged.”

  “Expectation isn’t always enough,” the voice pointed out. “I knew a number of people who expected not to go to jail.”

  “I will ask my own questions,” the King snapped. That was enough pandering to this turncoat. “I felt your loss. How did the boy steal you from me? Does he intend to steal others away too? How can anyone choose not to serve their rightful King?”

  “One moment, please.” There was the murmur of consulting voices, which suddenly got loud and emphatic before quietening down again. Then: “in order: he doesn’t know; yes, if he can work out how; and I will answer the third question. I don’t know how you got such a hold on me that I was prepared to hand Ted over without a quibble, and I don’t know how he snapped me out of it, but I am delighted that he did. If I had the choice then I would choose not to serve you because you’re dangerous. You don’t recognise any law and without law, we are just savages.”

  “Without law, you are my royal subjects,” the King corrected him.

  “And that is why the people of this land once used the law to cut a king’s head off.”

  Blood roared in the King’s ears. They did what? His shock was almost matched by the surprised blurt in the background behind the man’s voice. The man suddenly went muffled, as if he had turned his head away from the phone, and the King could just make out, in tones of astonishment:

  “I thought you did GCSE History?”

  He could hear the words but not understand them. Likewise the muffled, slightly defensive reply in a younger man’s tones meant nothing to him: something about “got a B” and “Spanish Civil War.”

  Then the man’s voice was back to normal.

  “Anyway–”

  But the King had had enough of this.

  “Unlike any king of yours, mortal man, I could order every one of my royal subjects to throw themselves on the sword of anyone who would attack me, and they would do so, gladly, joyfully, because that is the natural order within my kingdom!”

  He knew his voice was rising and
he was vaguely aware of the Queen’s hand on his arm, trying to calm him. He shook it off.

  “If your king allowed his head to be cut off then he was weak and a fool. Do not imagine I will make any such mistake and do not imagine I will spare you or the boy from a similar fate. There is no place in my kingdom for traitors. If you have any sense at all, wherever you are now you will simply start going in a straight line and do not stop until you are a long, long way away from me. And do not return!”

  Somewhere in all that he had stood up and started pacing about the room while his court looked on, awed by their monarch’s wrath. He took a breath, and spoke more quietly.

  “I am not a fool. I fully realise that my kingdom is a fraction of the size of this island and the world beyond is even bigger–” His voice rose to a final shout. “But within my kingdom, I am the law and there will be no other!”

  He ended the conversation by hurling the phone across the room, then slumped into his chair next to the Queen.

  “Continue rejoicing,” he ordered with a weary wave of his hand. Then he took the Queen’s hand and gently squeezed. “Oh, my love, my love. What is this place we are in, where royal subjects of mine can flout my law with impunity? Once the land itself would have handed them over to me.”

  “We need the Hunter,” the Queen said firmly. For a moment they were both lost in a reverie of how it had once been: the Hunter, the elemental force at the King’s command, leading his hunt ahead of the storm across the sky.

  “And as I have told you before, my dearest, the Hunter is gone. This age no longer requires his skills. But, no matter. We will raise up another.” He rapped his knuckles on the armrest and smiled at his consort. “We will raise up another,” he repeated, “fit for this age.”

  *

  Malcolm looked thoughtfully at the phone as the display went blank.

  “What did he say?” Ted asked nervously.

  “I think negotiations have broken down, if they ever began. I’m also pretty certain you can’t go back home – not for as long as the King can still command your family. They will just hand you over and be grateful for the privilege. Until you know exactly what you did to me–”