Terry Pratchett - Nation

And the ship came, and play stopped in any case.

Mau saw it first; he was always the first to see anything that came from the sea. It was the largest ship he had seen, with so many sails, it looked like a storm heading for them. Everyone was waiting on the beach as it anchored outside the lagoon and lowered a boat. There weren’t soldiers this time. The boat was rowed by four men in black.

“My word, that’s the Cutty Wren,” said His Excellency, handing the bat back to Pilu. “I wonder what they want here…. Ahoy, you chaps! Do you need help or something?”

The boat touched the sand and one of the men jumped out, hurried toward him, and drew him, protesting gently, along the beach and away from the match.

The conversation that took place was baffling to Mau, because the man in the black clothes spoke in a whisper while His Excellency asked questions at the top of his voice, so that what he heard was a fast buzzing, punctuated with explosions, as in “Me?”… “What, all of them?”… “What about Uncle Bernie? I know for a fact he is in America!”… “They have lions there?”… “Look, I’m really not — ”… “Right here?”… “Well, of course no one wants another Richard the Lionheart, but surely we don’t need”… and so it went on. Then His Excellency held up a hand to stop the man in black in mid buzz and turned to Mau. He looked shaken, and in a strained voice said, “Sir, would you be so good as to fetch my daughter? I believe she is up at the Ladies’ Place, stitching somebody. Er, I’m sure this will all turn out to be a misunderstanding. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

When they got back, His Excellency’s soldiers, who had been lounging around in their shirtsleeves for more than a week, had struggled back into their red coats and were standing on guard, although at the moment they were unsure whom they were guarding from what and how, not to mention why, and so until there were any orders to speak of, they were guarding everyone from everything.

Another boat had been lowered and was heading into the lagoon, with more people in it. One of them, sitting bolt upright, was unfortunately familiar to Daphne.

She ran to her father. “What’s going on?” Daphne glared at the men in the black suits and added, “And who are these… people?”

“Is this your delightful daughter, sire?” said one of the men, raising his hat to her.

“Sire?” said Daphne. She glared at the man in black. No one should call anyone delightful without written proof.

“It turns out that I am, not to put too fine a point on it, king,” said His Majesty. “This has not come at a good time, I must say. This gentleman is Mr. Black, from London.”

Daphne stopped glaring. “But I thought one hundred and thirty — ” she began. Then an expression of horror crossed her face. She looked back at the approaching row boat. “Has my grandmother been doing anything… silly? With knives and guns, perhaps?”

“Her ladyship? Not that I am aware,” said the Gentleman of Last Resort. “Here she comes now, Your Majesty. We called first at Port Mercia, of course, and picked up the Right Reverend Topleigh. I’m afraid the archbishop of Canterbury does not travel well, but he has sent instructions for the coronation.”

“A coronation here? Surely it can wait!” said His Majesty.

But Daphne was watching the figure in the distant boat. It couldn’t be true, could it? She wouldn’t come all this way, would she? For the chance of bossing a king around? Of course she would — she would have towed the ship with her teeth! And this time he wouldn’t be able to run away to the other end of the world.

“Strictly speaking, yes,” said Mr. Black. “You became king as soon as the last king died. At that very second. That’s how it works.”

“Really?” said His Majesty.

“Yes, sire,” said Mr. Black patiently, “God arranges it.”

“Oh good,” said the king weakly. “That’s very clever of Him.”

“And for full ratification, you understand, you must stand on the soil in England, but in these unusual circumstances,” Mr. Black went on, “and uncertain times, and so on and so forth, we thought it might save any argument — if we were delayed, for example — if the crown was firmly on your head. It would save any hairsplitting arguments — with the French, for instance — which can take such a long time.”

“There was the Hundred Years’ War, for example,” said a second gentleman.

“Well pointed out, Mr. Amber. In any case, we will have another coronation once we get home — which must, now, be a matter of some urgency, of course. Bunting, cheering, souvenir mugs for the children, that sort of thing. But in this case the Crown thought it would send out the right message to get you sorted out, as I might say, as soon as possible.” As he spoke, two of his colleagues began to take apart, with great care, the small crate they had brought ashore with them.

“Am I not the Crown?” asked His Majesty.

“No, sire, you are the king, sire,” said Mr. Black patiently. “You are, like us, underneath it. Subject to it.”

“But surely I can give you orders?”

“You can certainly make requests, sire, and we will do our very best to help. But, alas, you cannot give us orders. My word, we would be in a bad way if we took orders from kings. Isn’t that so, Mr. Brown?”

One of the men working on the crate looked up briefly. “It would be Charles the First all over again, Mr. Black.”

“You never said a truer word, Mr. Brown,” said Mr. Black. “It would be Charles the First all over again, and I don’t think any of us want to see Charles the First all over again, do we?”

“Why not?” asked Daphne.

Mr. Black turned to her and looked for a moment as if he was giving her a very quick examination.

“Because his arrogance and stupidity nearly lost England for the Crown, Your Royal Highness,” he said eventually.

Oh dear, thought Daphne, I am a princess now. Cor blimey. And I don’t think it’s the kind of thing you can resign from! A princess! Did you hear that, Mr. Foxlip, wherever you are? Ha!

“But wasn’t it Oliver Cromwell who had him executed?” she managed, trying to sound regal.

“Certainly, ma’am. But Oliver Cromwell wasn’t the problem. Charles the First was the problem. Oliver Cromwell was the solution. I’ll grant you he was a bit of a nuisance for a while afterward, but at least his unpleasant rule made people happy to see a king again. The Crown knows how to wait.”

“Charles the First’s head was cut off,” said Daphne, watching the new boat hit the sand.

“Clearly another reason for not wanting to see him,” said Mr. Black smoothly. “We wouldn’t be able to understand what he was saying.”

A plump man in clerical clothing, except possibly for the sarong, was helped out of the boat, and he in turn offered his hand to, yes, her grandmother. She was carrying an umbrella. An umbrella! It wasn’t to keep the rain off, of course. It was for prodding people, Daphne knew.

“Ah, and here is Her Ladyship now,” said Mr. Black, quite unnecessarily in Daphne’s view. He added: “She was wonderful company on the voyage out here. The nautical miles just flew past.” The little smile on his face was a masterpiece.

Grandmother looked around at the island, as if inspecting it for dust, and sighed. “One would have thought that we could have found somewhere cleaner,” she said. “Never mind. I trust you are well, Henry, and ready for the responsibility that has been thrust upon us by Divine Providence?”

“You mean all those people dying was provident?” said Daphne sharply. In her mind’s eye, ancestors toppled like dominoes… 138 of them.