Appointment for an Audience with Lord British

(The Monroe Chronicles, Part 3)

I rose before the sun. Monroe lay in his bed, while Talyn and Hearding sat leaning against the wall, their heads lolled over to the side. All three of them were deeply asleep. We had stayed up half the night talking… planning… I supposed they wouldn’t be awake for another hour or two. It was just as well that they were sleeping; I didn’t want them trying to talk me out of going to confront Lord British.

In the darkness of the basement, I quietly washed my face and brushed out my hair. I looked through my armoire for something to wear. There was only one outfit that was fancy enough to be seen in by a King, and still be somewhat fitting for the events. I pulled my Monroe Green fancy dress over my head.

I decided to walk to Britain. The walk would give me time to figure out how I was going to approach The Big Man about the situation. What was I thinking – how I was going to approach him?? More like – *who* was I going to approach so that I *could* approach him!

The walk from Skara Mainland to Britain was uneventful. I saw neither monsters nor animals, and a lone naked lumberjack. I didn’t even stop to say hello, like I usually do.

I crossed the West Bridge into the city and walked northwest past the bank. It was crowded there – full of people with brightly colored robes and funny hats and bone helms. They yelled crazy things at the walls. Bodies littered the ground. Garbage was scattered everywhere; the entire place stunk. Someone shouted "GUARDS!" and in a flash they were there with their mighty halberds, crushing the latest criminal with a single whack.

As I approached the castle, I saw the sign again: "Audience by appointment only." I supposed I would soon find out if Lord British really did keep his appointments.

I ran all over the castle, saying "Appointment!" "Audience Appointment!" "Appointment Audience Lord British!" When that didn't work, I tried: "Vendor Buy The Guards An Appointment For An Audience With Lord British To Tell Him Recdu Recsu and Your Destination Because Wherever It Is I Will Take Thee!! Oh, and... Bank!" The folks in the castle responded with, "I do not understand thee," and "Pardon me, but thou dost make no sense."

So I went running around up stairs, down stairs, and up other stairs, shouting these bizarre things at people (I had heard others do it around the Britain Bank, so I figured it must work?), when finally I heard someone say, "Wouldst thou cease thy shouting? Thou art causing my head to hurt and my ears to bleed!"

I stopped and turned around. There was nobody there. "Who said that?!" I hollered.

Somebody came from behind and grabbed my arm (hard, too) and said, "’Twas I who said that. Prithee lower thy decibels."

I turned to him, my face twisted in pain from his grip, and said, "I’m sorry, I do not understand thee."

"Listen, missy. If thou dost not stop yelling this instant, I will have thee thrown from the castle! Thou will *not* be able to return, and thou can forget about any appointment thou may want to make with Lord British!"

"Now that," I whispered, "I understand. Alright. I'm sorry. Let go, please." I looked at this person who had his thumb dug into the flesh of my arm. I was convinced that he was going to leave a bruise. I wiggled my arm free of his grip.

"Name," I said.

"I am The Glorious Lord Raph," he announced, as he puffed himself up like a male bird. Glorious Lord, my foot. Glorious Lords don't leave bruises in people's arms. This fame system really needs to be reworked.

"Did you say your name was Ralph?"

"Why doth everyone call me Ralph? It is *Raph,* which is for Raphael. Dost thou understand? See here - look at my name tag." He pulled his name tag (blast Lord British for making us wear these silly name tags!) closer to my face so I could read it. He was right. No L.

"Why don't you change your name to something easier to pronounce? Like, say… Bob? Or Fred? Or Joe? Or Dave?" I asked him.

"Because my father's name was Raphael. ‘Twas also the name of my grandfather. And my great grandfather's name was… well his name was Fred. The point is, that Raphael is a family name."

"Ohhh," I said. "So much for that idea."

"Yes," Raph said. "Besides, I asked the GMs to change my name and they said they could only change it if it is offensive. Raphael, while hard to pronounce – and hard to spell, as it turns out – is not offensive. Alas, it will hang above my head till the end of time."

"Hmmm," I said. "I suppose you could just correct everyone every time you see your name misspelled."

"Nay!" he exclaimed. "’Twould take up too much of my time, and I have many things of great import to do!"

"Like what?" I asked him.

"Forgive me, I do not quite follow," was his reply.

"You just said you have a lot of things to do. What are they?"

"Sorry, Friend. I fail to follow what thou sayest."

"Job," I said. With this one word, it was as if I had pulled the plug on a vat of wine, his speech spilling like Merlot upon the floor.

"I am the Royal Vizier. I have many, many jobs! Verily, I do! Whilst Lord British doth go on his many quests, I am the master of his castle. Oh! The things I must accomplish to keep this land running smoothly are many and varied! I must argue with Lord British’s subjects about laws that he will never make! He tells me I should not bother, but I cannot stop arguing with his subjects until they see that Lord British’s ways are right! Then, when the disagreements become too much, the subjects become rowdy, and I must take the heat! Since he is not usually around for them to throw tomatoes at, *I* must stand there and let them pelt me with their rotten vegetables! Yaii! It doth hurt me so!

"The number of questions they ask would fill five oceans. Their questions plague my dreams. And the suggestions – My Goodness, the suggestions! I read them for hours each day, cataloguing and filing them for him to read upon his return. When he does return, I update him on the happenings of the land since his departure, and advise him on all decisions that must be made."

"Appointment," I said to him.

"Thou dost make no sense," he responded.

"Appointment Audience," I said.

"I don’t know what thou art talking about."

I sighed in exasperation. "Are you the person I should ask to make an Appointment for an Audience with Lord British?"

"Yes, I keep Lord British’s appointments written in a book. I also keep his travel schedule, and his, <ahem> personal schedules." I held my hand up, not wanting any more information on that particular subject.

"So you’re his secretary, then?" I asked.

"I am not a secretary!" he barked. "I am the Royal Vizier! But sometimes, when he wants to make fun of me, and make me feel inadequate, he doth call me that." Raphael the Vizier sulked.

"Gee," I empathized with him. "You must have a really thankless job."

"Aye," he sighed, "at times, I feel as though nobody appreciates me. But then, someone will do something nice for me, and it makes it all worthwhile. See here!" he rummaged in the collar of his shirt, "Isn’t this lovely?" From beneath his Fancy Shirt, he pulled a shiny red stone hanging from a golden chain, and held it out for me to see.

I looked at it for a while, mesmerized. I shook my head and blinked my eyes. It really *was* lovely, but it was akin to looking at the sun: Stare too long, and surely, bad things will come of it. "Where did you get it?" I asked.

"I know not from whence it came," he responded. "From a secret admirer, I suppose. Perchance it was from a rich merchant, who finally realized what I wonderful job I am doing." He smiled, satisfied that someone appreciated him. "It was the first – well, it was the *only* gift I have received since I took this job. I will wear it always."

"That’s nice," I said, "But I really need to get in to see British. Can you help me?"

"Aye," he replied. "I can aid thee in this. Follow me."

I followed The Glorious Lord Raphael, Royal Vizier, up the south stairs, and to a room with a desk and a few chairs. He motioned for me to sit.

"Pray tell me your name," he said, as he took pen into hand and opened a large, leather-bound book.

"Janey," I responded.

"And your surname?"

"Sheesh. Getting a little personal, aren’t we? I don’t *have* a surname. It’s just Janey."

"Well, I must have something to put in the Surname Area of the entry. At any time, there could be ten to fifteen Janeys waiting for an Audience with Lord British."

Freaking bureaucrats. "Well then, put ‘Janey’ in as my last name, and ‘The Famous’ in as my first."

Raphael looked up from his book. He sat frozen, looking at me. "You are The Famous Janey?"

"Yes... errr... Aye."

"I’m sorry, I cannot let you in to see Lord British." Crimany. I knew this fame crap would get me into trouble eventually.

"Look," I told him, "it doesn’t say "Audience for anybody but Janey By Appointment Only" on that sign. So you’ll need to write my name in that book of yours, like you’re supposed to."

"I’m sorry, I cannot let you in to see Lord British," he repeated. He stood up, coldly grabbed me by my arm – thumb in the same place as before – and led me to the door. He walked me into the hallway and said, "GUARDS!"

In a flash, they were there. "Take this girl outside the castle and leave her there. She is not welcome here any longer."

I turned around to Raphael and said, "Bye."

The guards picked me up by my underarms – How insulting! I can walk! – and did as they were told. They dropped me on the bridge where I was curtly advised: ‘And don’t come back.’ Someone dressed in a bright blue robe and bone helm said, "hehehe" to me as he walked by.

I ran the previous events through my head. What went wrong? The Vizier was going to let me in until I told him I was The Famous Janey. Well, if that was the problem, I decided I didn’t have to be The Famous Janey.

I set out to make myself a disguise. I walked to the Armory behind the bank and bought some Female Armor. Janey wouldn’t be caught dead in Female Armor. Then I went to the tailor shop, and bought a dyes, a tub, a funny hat and a few pieces of cloth, which I turned into a baldric. I dyed both the hat and the baldric the most hideous shade of orange I could possibly make. Then I went behind the tailor shop to the provisioner’s and bought a pair of low boots. I dyed the boots the same color of orange.

I hid while I tried this outfit on in the provisioner’s shop. When I came out of hiding, I received a few wolf-whistles. Is this what it takes?? If it is, it isn’t worth it. I looked at my reflection in the window. I laughed a one-syllable laugh. For sure, *nobody* would think I was Janey.

I quickly ran back to the castle – as close as I could get without them seeing me. I cast Kal In Ex and became Amelia. With curly blonde hair and very dark skin, I ran back up to where Raphael the Vizier was.

When I found him, I asked quickly, "Are you the person I should ask to make an Appointment for an Audience with Lord British?" He said yes, and I told him my name was Amelia Miner, and that I wanted to talk to Lord British about the killers who pester us so often.

He wrote my pseudonym down in the book and said, "Alright, we can squeeze you in at 10:45 next Tuesday morning."

Next Tuesday? This spell wasn’t going to last an hour, let alone until next Tuesday! "I don’t mean to rush you, but I really must see Lord British as soon as possible. Is he busy now?"

"Well, no, but..." Raphael stammered.

"Look, man! They are *dying* out there!" I grabbed him by the collar. "Their blood will be on *your* hands if you don’t let me in!"

He pushed my hands off of him in a huff, and motioned for me to follow him. We walked down the stairs to the throne room. Guards lined both sides of the wall. Raphael told me to stay put, and then disappeared behind the curtain. I felt self-conscious, standing half-naked in the middle of the room, with all of these guards looking not at me, but through me.

I waited impatiently, hoping against hope that the spell would stay long enough for me just to talk to him for a *few* minutes. I knew that if I could just talk to him, I would get the answers I was looking for.

Just when I was ready to turn tail and run, Raphael came back out from behind the curtain and announced: "All Hail Lord British!"

In unison, the guards thumped the ends of their halberds on the stone floor, and angled them forward, and got down on one knee, heads bowed. This display shocked me so much, that I wasn’t sure what to do. I did what I tend to do in situations like this – I laughed. Raphael moved an open palm toward the ground, so I got on one knee and bowed my head like the guards.

Lord British emerged from behind the curtain, and sat on his throne. He said quietly, "You may stand." The guards stood, and I followed.

Laughing even harder now, I said, weakly pointing at him, "You’re not Lord British!" I looked at Raphael who was looking at me like I was nuts and said, "Who *is* this guy?"

"Why do you not think I am Lord British?" he asked.

"Lord British has *gray hair,*" I told him between giggles. "He’s *old* and you’re not."

"Why do you think I’m old?" he asked me.

"Because. When I saw him..." I trailed off into a fit of giggles.

"WHAT is so FUNNY?" He demanded.

"Him..." I pointed at the Vizier, "And the Guards..." I banged my imaginary halberd on the ground, "And you..." I fell to the floor with tears in my eyes, laughing so hard that my stomach hurt.

He turned to Raphael and said, "You woke me up for *this*?" The vizier shrugged.

Just then, what I had been fearing would happen, did. My hair turned brown, my skin turned fair, and the name above my head turned to Janey. Raphael gasped, the guards swooped around me in a flash, and Lord British stood. If that wasn’t enough to stop the laughter, I don’t know what would be.

"Back off, you mo-rons!" I said to the guards, as I wiped the tears from my eyes.

"It’s her!" Raphael pointed at me and exclaimed. "I told thee not to come back!"

Lord British looked exasperated. "WHAT in God’s Name is going ON in here?!"

I quickly stood up and pushed the guards away from me a bit. I pointed back at the Vizier and said to the man on the throne, "HE wouldn’t let me in to see Lord British!"

The Glorious Lord Raphael huffed, "That’s preposterous! Everyone is allowed to make an appointment with Lord British. I know that!"

Lord British looked at Raphael, and then at me, and waved his hands as if to say ‘time out.’ "Well, you’re in now. So what is it that you want?"

"Look," I said, "It’s kind of private. I think that’s between me and Lord British." I rummaged through my backpack to find my green dress. A lock of hair fell in front of my face. I pulled it back behind my ear again. When I found the dress, I hid while I pulled it over my armor, then took the armor off. I wiggled a bit, and it fell to the floor with a <clunk.> I came out of hiding to say, "Much better."

"Oh right," he said. "You were just telling us what Lord British looked like."

"Right. He has gray hair, and a long beard, and he is old. That’s all I could really tell. But anyway, could you get him, please? This is kind of important." I stepped out of the armor, and put it in my pack.

"Where did you see him?" he sat with his elbow on the arm of the throne, his hand under his chin, with his index and middle finger on his cheek.

"I had a dream about him on the way here," I told him matter-of-factly. "Don’t tell him I said that, okay? I don’t want him thinking that I am... you know... one of those kooks."

"I already think you’re a kook," he told me. "And I am Lord British."

"No you’re not," I argued.

"Yes I am," he replied.

"Yes," Raphael nodded at me, "he is."

"Oh," I said sheepishly. I blushed hotly, realizing that I just changed my clothes in front of the King. Hidden or not, it was still embarrassing. "Well, if you were around more often, maybe people would know what you looked like."

"What’s that supposed to mean?" he snapped.

"It’s supposed to mean exactly what you think it means," I responded. "You’re away. A lot. Nobody ever sees you. Or talks to you. You’re an *absentee king,* and you don’t pay subject-support."

"I’m busy! I have a lot of things on my plate right now!"

"Like what? What could be more important than *us,* your loyal subjects?"

"I am dealing with things bigger than you can even imagine," he told me. By the way he said it, I believed him.

"Like what?" I asked him again.

"Not that I think I need to explain myself to *you,* but I will tell you anyway," he said. "I am dealing with the future. So many things will happen to these lands. Horrible things. Don’t ask me what – because they are so horrible, that I can’t tell you. I am going to the future to try to prevent them, so that when your children, and your children’s children are adults, they won’t have to live through them."

"But if you don’t deal with *now* there won’t *be* a future," I told him. "You don’t know the things that are going *on* out there."

"I’m sorry," he said, "But this is more important."

"No. It isn’t," I looked at his eyes. "You’re scared, aren’t you? That’s it. You’re *scared* of them."

"Lord British doesn’t *get* scared!" Raphael said, defensively.

"Yes you are. You are scared. You are scared that they will yell at you and throw things at you and poke you with sticks! You are scared that they will hate you."

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "Wouldn’t you be? You should have seen them. The riots were unbelievable. They wrote about me in all the newspapers, on what a horrible job I was doing running this country... Why do you think I hired Raphael to be my Vizier?"

"Yes," I said. "And now they throw things at him, instead."

"Better him than me," he said.

"You may not believe this, but they *want* to like you. They really do. But it’s hard to like someone who’s never there. It would be so much better if you could come and say hi once a week or so. You don’t have to stay for very long. Thirty minutes. You don’t have to announce it. Just go to random places, and talk to people. It would make them happy... and you would be a hero again."

"Maybe," he said. Then he changed the subject. "But I can’t imagine that’s why you came here."

"No," I said, "It isn’t. But now that I’ve been here, I realize you don’t know the answers to my questions. You couldn’t possibly, because you’re never here."

"Ask me anyway," he said. "Maybe I can tell you where to go to find your answers."

"Well, there is a problem with the tailors..." I gave him the nutshell version of the story. "So that’s when I decided to come to see you. I knew somebody powerful had to be involved. But HE," I pointed at Raphael accusingly, "wouldn’t let me IN."

"Is this true?" Lord British turned to him.

"Of course not! Everyone can make an appointment!"

"Oh what a bunch of bull-oney," I said. "And he is taking *kickbacks.* Go ahead, Raphael. Show him your necklace."

"I don’t have a necklace," Raphael said as he turned a funny shade of white.

"Honesty!" Lord British yelled at him. "Isn’t that one of the virtues we have been preaching here? How can we expect them to live by these virtues if you cannot? Now show me this necklace!"

With a shaky hand, the Vizier pulled the red amulet out of his shirt. He would look at neither of us, staring above our heads.

Lord British sighed in disappointment. He held out his hand to Raphael and said, "Give me the necklace."

"I cannot do that," Raphael the Vizier told him.

"GIVE IT TO ME!" Lord British yelled so loudly that even the guards dropped their halberds and covered their ears.

"It isn’t that I don’t want to," he explained. "I simply cannot take it off." He demonstrated this by trying to pull it off his head. He was right; it wouldn’t come off. Lord British stood up and tried to ease it over his head, then ‘eased’ it more roughly. It still would not come off. The King then grabbed the amulet, and stuck his foot into Raphael’s chest, and pulled as hard as he could. Raphael screamed in pain. It still would not come off.

Lord British called for the Royal Tinker, who tried to unhook the clasp with her tools. Still, it hung around Raphael’s reddened neck.

"This amulet must have some curse upon it," Lord British deduced. "Who gave it to you?"

"I don’t know," Raphael was close to tears – from the pain, and the embarrassment. "It was in a box on my desk one morning. There was a note attached. It was my only gift..." Raphael pulled a tattered piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Lord British. I ran around behind him to see what it said.

The note read: "Raplh dood. We want u too ware tihs. k thx."

"This is the note?" Lord British asked him, incredulous.

"It was my only gift..." Raphael repeated.

"I know this penmanship," Lord British stated. "Did they ask you for anything in return for this gift?"

"A few minor things," Raphael admitted. "So long ago, when we created the dye tubs, they wanted to be sure to make it easy to turn out ‘kewl’ colors, and hard to get nice ones. Then, recently, I wanted to give away lovely green dye tubs for Christmas. They said – "no way gotta give trueblack." These were such inconsequential things, and I was so grateful for the gift they had given me, that I complied." He paused, closed his eyes, and said, "There is one other thing they asked for."

Lord British motioned for him to continue.

"They wanted me to change the commodity spawn rates in Cove," Glorious Lord Raphael, The Royal Vizier, confessed. "I told them I could do no such thing. But they said they would go to you, and tell you about this bribe. Reluctantly, I did as they asked. Now I see what horrible things this did to the once thriving town of Cove. I single-handedly allowed this fine town to decay into a struggling village. I am so ashamed."

"If you never met the person who gave you the amulet, then how could they ask you for these things?" I asked.

"The amulet is like a Communication Crystal, though it never runs out of charges," Raphael answered. "They use it whenever they need to. I have never seen their faces."

Lord British shook his head in disgust. He turned the amulet over. On the back, was written: Killing Everything We Loathe In Our Sights. "I know who is behind this: It’s the K.E.W.L.I.Os. Raphael, get me the file on Black Shadow immediately."

Black Shadow! The Shadows! True Black Dye Tubs! They were killing tailors with nice colors! That’s why Monroe was targeted so many times! That’s why Baxter was dead! It was all starting to come together. Oh! I couldn’t wait to tell Monroe.

Raphael brought the file to Lord British, who opened it. Inside, was everything anybody ever wanted to know about The Evil, Villainous Black Shadow. Where he was born, when he was born, where he lived, how many times he had died, how many times he had killed. What his favorite breakfast cereal was. You name it – it was in there.

It made me wonder: Did they have a file like this on me? Just the thought of it gave me shivers.

Two pictures of Black Shadow fell out of the book; I snapped them up while Raphael and Lord British were busy reading.

"We can’t let the K.E.W.L.I.Os get away with this!" I said excitedly.

"No, we cannot," Raphael agreed.

"No, we cannot," Lord British echoed.

Here are the pictures I snagged from the file folder at Lord British's castle: