David Walliams - The Beast of Buckingham Palace

“Yes, Father. It’s me, your son, Alfred!”

It had been days since he’d seen his father, and he seemed more distant than ever. “What are you doing, Father? Mother is being taken away by the guards. And the Lord Protector says it is on your direct order!”

The King gathered his thoughts and began. He spoke slowly and softly. “The revolutionaries struck again tonight. St Paul’s Cathedral has been destroyed.”

“A place of worship,” sighed the Lord Protector. “Cruel and callous even by the standards of the revolutionary scum.”

“What on earth has that got to do with me?” demanded the Queen.

The Lord Protector’s mouth twitched into a ghoulish grin, but he said nothing.

The King continued, refusing to look his wife in the eye. “It has everything to do with you.”

“This is nonsense!” she protested. “UTTER NONSENSE!”

The King’s eyes flickered again, and he turned away. He couldn’t bear to look at his wife as he spoke. “For some time, I am sorry to say, you have been under suspicion.”

“Me?” she demanded. The lady was incredulous. “But I am the Queen!”

“You have been spied upon. And the All-Seeing Eye sees everything,” added the Lord Protector.

“Intelligence information has been brought to my attention,” continued the King, still unable to look at her, “that points to you being in direct communication with the revolutionaries.”

The Queen glowed red and began spluttering her innocence. “But… I…”

“You don’t deny it, Your Majesty?” pressed the Lord Protector.

“No, I, er…” the lady stuttered. “Of course, I deny it!”

“Then,” began the Lord Protector, “why did you have this hidden in your bedroom?”

He lifted a cloth to reveal an old-fashioned radio crouched guiltily on a metal table. It had a microphone, a speaker and an aerial, and looked as if it dated back nearly two hundred years to World War Two.

“I have never seen that before in my life!” protested the Queen.

“It was found hidden in a secret compartment in your dressing room.”

The radio crackled into life. A muffled voice on the other end said,

The Queen bowed her head.

Alfred thought he recognised that voice, but he couldn’t be sure. A voice from his dim and distant past, perhaps.

“Regina. The Latin word for Queen,” began the Lord Protector. “Hundreds of coded messages going back and forth over the last few weeks. Here, in the throne room, we intercepted them all. Then tonight, moments after your last message, KABOOM! Another precious building in flames. Sickening. Absolutely sickening.”

Alfred couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it, but he knew from the look on his mother’s face that it was true.

“Mama? How could you? The revolutionaries are evil! They want to kill us all!” he exclaimed.

“I can explain,” she spluttered, turning to the King. “My darling husband, you’ve changed. Something has happened to you, something very wrong, and I don’t know what. Please, I beg you. Don’t do this!”

The Lord Protector turned to the King. “Your Majesty, what would you like me to do with the traitor?”

Alfred was stunned into silence as that dreaded word sank in. TRAITOR.

“Take her to the Tower,” ordered the King.

“NO!” screamed the Queen. “Henry, it’s me, your wife. The mother of your child. I love you. Why are you doing this to me? Or is this really all the work of the Lord Protector? He has you under some kind of spell!”

On the Lord Protector’s nod, the royal guards seized her arms tightly and began dragging her out of the room.

“MAMA!” cried Alfred, and he reached out to grab her hand. But, before he could, a guard shoved him away.

“ARGH!”

The boy fell to the floor.

THUD!

“You are now the kingdom’s only hope,” said the Queen. “Goodbye, Lionheart!”

Alfred watched as the huge metal doors to the throne room slid open…

WHOOSH!

…and closed behind her.

His mother was gone. Perhaps forever.

The Lord Protector paced over to the prince. “There, there,” he said, reaching out to comfort him.

“No. I don’t want you. I want Mama back. PLEASE! I BEG YOU!”

“Your Royal Highness, I realise this is deeply upsetting news, that your mother, the Queen, is a traitor. But I want you to know that I am always here for you. I am, and will forever be, your loyal servant. If you need to talk about your feelings, you know my door is always open, as it has been for your father.”

“Please leave me now,” said the King, still staring off into space. “I need to be alone.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” replied the Lord Protector. He took the prince tightly by the hand. “This must be a difficult time for you more than any of us.”

Still holding the boy tightly by the hand, he made his way over to the metal door.

“Father?” said Alfred, turning towards the King.

“Please, you heard His Majesty – your father needs to be alone,” said the Lord Protector.

“Mama is a good person,” said the boy. “The best. If she did this, there must be a reason.”

“The reason is that there is evil inside her,” interjected the Lord Protector. “The Tower of London is the best place for her. The Executioner should be able to cast the evil out. By hook or by crook.”

Alfred gulped. Whatever “by hook or by crook” meant, it sounded deadly.

No one sent to the Tower of London ever came back.

“Now come on, young prince, a sickly child like you shouldn’t be out of bed at this late hour. You might catch your death,” said the Lord Protector. “You will be King yourself one day. We wouldn’t want anything happening to you, now, would we?”

The huge metal door slid open…

WHOOSH!

…and he led the boy out of the throne room.

Alfred allowed himself one last glimpse of his father. He was searching for a flicker of kindness in his eyes. A shadow of the man he used to be.

But there

was

nothing.

As the Lord Protector led him slowly along the corridor, Alfred could sense something hovering behind.

He looked round to see a giant eye staring back at him. It was the All-Seeing Eye, a huge roving robot camera.

It was powered by thousands of tiny jets, which allowed it to move silently in any direction.

Up.

Down.

Left.

Right.

And everything in between.

The All-Seeing Eye could soar high up into the air above the palace to see for miles around, or glide silently down into the depths of the building.