David Walliams - The Beast of Buckingham Palace

What it saw through its unblinking eye was beamed right back to that huge television screen in the throne room. There the King, and of course the Lord Protector, could see EVERYTHING.

Nothing and nobody could escape its unblinking stare.

Alfred was drained, not just physically but also emotionally. It took all his strength to climb the long, winding staircase back up to his room at the top of the palace.

When he finally reached his bedroom, the Lord Protector said, “Goodnight, Your Royal Highness. I know how much you love a good book. Would you care for a goodnight story?”

“No,” came the terse reply. “I am not a baby.”

The boy’s eyes were still stinging with tears.

“Forgive me, sir, but you do sometimes cry like one.”

Alfred wanted to thump him. If only he had the strength.

“Just a little joke, sir. There’s no point shedding tears over traitors. After you,” purred the Lord Protector, guiding the young prince through the doorway with a little bow.

Then, with the precision and speed of a close-up magician, he took the key from out of the lock on the inside.

“I think it best I hold on to this, sir, for your own protection, of course,” he said.

“But—!”

“I wish you goodnight. Sweet dreams.”

The Lord Protector patted him on the head. Alfred couldn’t bear the man’s long, thin fingers touching him. He shuddered.

With the All-Seeing Eye still hovering behind, the Lord Protector shut the prince’s bedroom door and locked it.

CLICK!

Alfred staggered to his bed and lay down, burying his head in the pillow.

He wanted to cry until his body turned inside out. Just like a baby. But, right now, tears solved nothing.

Alfred had to do something.

He sat up on the bed. From his window he could see that St Paul’s Cathedral was still ablaze. By morning this historic monument, an icon of London’s skyline, would be little more than charred rubble.

In his heart, the boy knew that his mother couldn’t be behind this terrible attack. It went against everything he knew about her, and he knew her better than anybody. She was kind and loving, the best mother he could ever imagine. The Queen was not capable of such unspeakable horror. What’s more, why would she ever do such a thing?

The revolutionaries were the sworn enemies of the royals. They wanted the royal family dead. It didn’t make sense.

Alfred was determined to find out what was really going on.

The mysterious chalk markings on the floor.

The strange cuts on his father’s hands.

His dearest mama being branded a traitor.

It couldn’t be true.

Alfred was determined to prove his mother’s innocence.

To do that he had to turn detective.

The boy tiptoed back over to his bedroom door. Peeping through the crack under it, he could see a shadow on the floor. The All-Seeing Eye was still hovering outside, keeping watch over him. Even if he could find a way of unlocking the door, royal guards would be here in seconds. His next stop would be the Tower of London.

Instead, Alfred tiptoed over to his window.

As the glory days of Buckingham Palace were long gone, in the prince’s bedroom there was an infestation of woodworm – the larvae of beetles that eat through wood. There were tiny holes in his bedframe, his cupboard and, when he rolled back the stained silk rug that lay in the middle of his room, there were holes in the floorboards too.

The window frames were made of wood, and the wood was rotting. Alfred ran his fingers along the hundreds of little holes in the frame. Cold air was whistling through them. That meant that, even though the glass was bulletproof, there might be a way of taking the whole window out.

Alfred crept over to his wardrobe. He pulled a wire coat hanger off the rail.

CLANK!

Next, he untwisted it…

RINK! DINK! KINK!

…then bent it so he was left with a long metal rod. He made sure the end had a little bend in it, then fed it through one of the tiny holes. Next, he grabbed another coat hanger…

CLANK!

…and did the same to a hole below. Then another two on the other side of the window, top and bottom.

Now, already feeling the worse for wear, Alfred gathered up the ends of all four coat hangers in his hand and pulled. At first nothing happened. No wonder. It was a real struggle for the boy to muster any strength in his thin little arms. Alfred took a deep breath and pulled again. Harder this time. Still nothing. Then he closed his eyes, and yanked the ends of the coat hangers as hard as he possibly could.

SUCCESS!

The whole window came loose. Now a huge slab of glass was coming straight towards him!

WHOOSH!

It was so heavy it could flatten him.

Just in time, he caught it in his hands.

CHONK!

“OOF!”

Immediately Alfred realised he wasn’t strong enough to keep holding it, and so lowered it to the floor as slowly and silently as he could.

THUNK!

A blast of cold air swept into his bedroom.

WHISH!

Alfred hadn’t breathed air from the outside for as long as he could remember.

Next, he peered out. There was a drainpipe on the wall within arm’s reach that he might be able to climb down. However, he couldn’t just leave the window frame lying there. A missing window on the side of Buckingham Palace would arouse suspicion. So, he righted it, swapped the coat hangers to the other side, and stepped out on to the slippery windowsill.

Suddenly, it dawned on Alfred that it was an awfully long way down from the top of the palace to the bottom. If he lost his grip, he’d be nothing more than human jam. *

Next, using his weight as a lever, he pulled the window back into place from the outside.

SHTONK!

Then, summoning all his strength, Alfred shimmied over to the drainpipe.

Avoiding the royal guard’s searchlights that raked the walls day and night looking for intruders, the boy slid over to the side.

Right next to his room was the King’s bedroom. He and the Queen had had separate bedrooms for as long as Alfred could remember.

The room was vast, with a huge four-poster bed, two sofas arranged around a coffee table and a marble fireplace. From outside the window, Alfred saw his father sitting alone on the end of his bed. The man stared straight ahead. At first Alfred was worried that his father had glimpsed him. But no. The man was staring into space.

The King rubbed the palms of his hands. That is where those strange cuts were.

Just then, the door to the King’s bedroom opened.

CLICK!

It was the Lord Protector. Alfred ducked out of view.

Then, after a few moments, the boy lifted his head so he could peer through the window again.

He could see the Lord Protector leading his father off somewhere. But where?

As the King’s bedroom door closed behind them, Alfred began his

slow

descent

down

the

drainpipe.

The next window was the library. This was one of the largest rooms in the palace, stocked from top to bottom with antique books, all of them extraordinary. Some even unique.

Alfred was surprised NOT to see the Lord Protector in the library. He was often to be found there alone, reading late into the night. The library was where the man had begun his career at Buckingham Palace, all those years ago when he was just a humble librarian. This was decades before he became Lord Protector.