David Walliams - The Beast of Buckingham Palace

The Lord Protector had worked at Buckingham Palace for as long as anyone could remember. He’d started off in the palace library, tending to the thousands of ancient books collected there.

Most of the books were displayed on shelves, but there was a handful kept under lock and key in a cabinet. Only the Lord Protector had the key. Like museum pieces, Alfred was not allowed to take these books up to his room. However, he could look at their covers. One intrigued him the most. It was an ancient red leather-bound book with gold lettering on the front.

The boy knew very little Latin, but he knew enough to translate that. “Libro” was a word you often found in library books. It meant “book”.

So this was The Book of Albion.

Once, when he’d slipped into the library unnoticed, Alfred had seen the Lord Protector studying it. Glancing over the man’s shoulder, he saw there were ornate hand-painted pictures inside. But, before he could make out what they were, the Lord Protector had slammed the book shut, and locked it back in the case. Of course, this only intrigued the boy more.

Over the years, the Lord Protector had gained the trust of the King to the extent that he had become his closest adviser.

As the country slid into ruin with crops failing and no clean water to drink, the Lord Protector introduced EXTREME MEASURES in the King’s name.

Food and water were rationed.

There were curfews at night, so people couldn’t go outside.

Punishments were severe, including execution.

The government was outlawed.

The army and the police force were disbanded and replaced by the royal guard.

The Union Jack was replaced by the flag of the griffin.

Since the catastrophic events that had plunged the kingdom into darkness, the King had relied heavily on the Lord Protector to guide him through this terrifying new world. Over the years, the King became more and more withdrawn, as if he’d disappeared into the back of his mind. No one knew why exactly, but the King, who had once been so full of life, seemed as if he were one of the walking dead. Soon he was ruler only in name. The country was controlled by the Lord Protector.

When Alfred spied his mother being held by the royal guards outside the huge metal door to the throne room, he seized his chance. The lady was making a lot of noise, and struggling to get away, which distracted the two soldiers.

“THIS IS NO WAY TO TREAT YOUR QUEEN! UNHAND ME! DO YOU HEAR? UNHAND ME AT ONCE!”

The boy tiptoed behind them, and when the metal door slid open…

WHOOSH!

…he took a deep

breath,

and

sneaked in.

*“Septem” is the Latin word for “seven”.

The throne room was modern and high-tech compared to the rest of Buckingham Palace, which had not changed for centuries. The walls, floor and ceiling were silver metal. One side was covered with a giant television screen, affording any view of the palace imaginable from a roving flying robot.

In front of the screen was a figure, slumped on the throne.

The King.

The man was only in his fifties, but he looked a good deal older. He had a long, grey beard, and deep, dark circles round his eyes. His appearance had changed rapidly over the years. This once-handsome upright man, full of life and love and laughter, had become an empty shell. Alfred thought that something must have happened to him, something terrible, to make him like this. Father was a completely different man from how he’d been when Alfred was a toddler. It was disturbing to witness such a change in him. As always, the King was wearing his silk pyjamas and dressing gown. He never got dressed or shaved or even washed.

You would never guess he was the King. Once he’d been a great guardian of the British people – now he was seen as their enemy.

Behind the King stood the Lord Protector, his long, thin fingers creeping on to the back of the throne.

“Lord Protector! What in the name of Great Britain do you think you are doing?” demanded the Queen.

The Lord Protector looked past her and the two royal guards – he’d spotted the prince crouching behind them.

“Well, well, well. We have an uninvited guest,” he purred.

“WHAT?” demanded the Queen. She looked round to see her son lurking there.

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

The Queen was furious. “Alfred! I told you to stay in your room!”

“I know, but I couldn’t just let them take you away. Not without a fight.”

The Queen mouthed “I love you” to her son.

The boy mouthed “I love you too” back.

“FATHER!” shouted Alfred. “They are taking Mama away! You have to stop them!”

The King turned to his son, but his eyes had an absence about them, as if there were a deep sadness that no one could reach.

He was staring at Alfred, but seemed to look right through him into space. There appeared to be no thought or feeling within him.

“Your Royal Highness,” began the Lord Protector, “with respect, this is neither the time nor the place for one of such tender years. Please let me call your nanny. She can escort you safely back to your room.”

“NO!” snapped the boy, finding a strength he didn’t know he had.

“No?” The Lord Protector had a way of being perfectly unruffled.

“NO! I demand to know what you are doing with my mother!”

The Queen allowed herself a smile, as if to say, “That’s my boy!”

“Father! Please help us!”

The King held up his hand as if to say, “Enough.” At once, his son noticed nasty cuts on the palm of his father’s hand. He’d seen these before, although, when asked, his father had no memory whatsoever of how they’d got there.

The Lord Protector smirked. He spoke softly and slowly, not meeting the boy’s anger.

“There must be some misunderstanding, Your Royal Highness. I am not doing anything to your mother, the Queen. I am merely a servant of the King.”

The Queen glanced sadly at the King. “My husband is a lost soul and has been for many years, thanks to you. No, this is your doing, Lord Protector!” she stated. “What a title you have! Protector! You protect nothing and nobody other than yourself. You are destroying this kingdom, but you are not going to destroy me!”

The Lord Protector smiled and sighed. “Please forgive me, Your Majesty, but you are quite wrong. This is not my doing. Your arrest is a direct order from your husband, the King.”

Neither the Queen nor the prince could believe what they were hearing.

“Father,” called out the boy.

But the man did not respond.

“FATHER!”

The King’s black eyes came to some semblance of life and fixed on his son.

“Alfred?” he asked. “Is that you?”