Adventures in Time Travel: Deeper Undercover (part four)
My first port of call in London was a dealer in rare coins. Then I went to Rigby & Peller, who were fortunately having a sale. After that I wandered round in search of what John had described as “good value” gifts for the state visit to Paris, to replace all the costly items he had now decided to keep for himself. The last thing I bought was some WD-40. That wasn’t intended as a gift for Philip Augustus, it was just something that tended to come in useful.
I remembered to post John’s letter to Mrs. Kensington. Finally I dropped in on Debrett-Burke and filled him in on the I’m A Little Princess business.
“Not entirely unexpected,” he said. “Archaeologists have been finding some unexpected items in medieval and early modern sites lately. Specifically, plastics. Quite useful for the boffins as it isn’t known exactly how long plastic takes to degrade. The estimate has been about a thousand years – that’s looking conservative at the moment. Obviously, we’ve got to find the source. Would you be willing to make one more trip for us, to question the peddler?”
“What do you mean, one more trip? I told you, I live there now, at least part-time. I’m John’s mistress. Well, one of them.”
“Hm. You know, Moppet, undercover work puts a strain on a chap. You need to take a step back here. You’re not really Lady Moppet of Yorkshire.”
“I am now. John’s going to give me lands in Yorkshire, he said so.”
“Moppet, he’s really not a very nice man. Perhaps he’s good for Oscar, but you’re better off without him. I know what you’re thinking – couples counselling – but that would most likely founder due to cultural differences.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “He’s so powerful. He doesn’t have to worry about opinion polls or approval ratings, he just does whatever he likes. It’s sexy.”
“I’m sorry, but – a grown man executing a teddy bear…”
“Well,” I said, “perhaps that’s not the best example. Anyway, I’ll question the peddler. I’ll need more funding, of course.”
“That’s no problem. And you’ll be able to take your Blackberry this time. New technology,” he explained.
I timed my return for less than twelve hours after I’d left, as I didn’t trust John not to replace me if I left it any longer.
“You came back, how trusting,” he said. “We’ve got the peddler, he’s in the dungeons, but I’m thinking of hanging him.”
“Why?”
“Because I think you and I and Oscar should spend some time together, just the three of us.”
“Well, that would be lovely, but I’d rather it wasn’t at a hanging.”
“I thought an execution would make a nice family day out,” he said reproachfully. “Oscar told me you’ve never taken him to see even one.”
John insisted on coming with me to interrogate the peddler. I thought I might have done better on my own, but it was his kingdom, so I didn’t argue.
Something about the peddler told me he was from the future too. For one thing, he was clean-shaven.
“All right,” said John, “talk.”
“Your Majesty, I’ve been trying to do that since I was arrested! Your dungeon managers wouldn’t listen. I’ve got letters of authorisation to sell my merchandise – look – “
John waved the letters aside. “We by no means wish to prevent you from transacting your business.”
“Well, Your Majesty, I’m very glad to hear it. If you could pass that message down to your staff.”
I decided to cut to the chase. Watched with great interest by John, we exchanged business cards. I discovered that the peddler’s name was Garth and his job title was, ‘Sales Representative, Junior Miss Division, 1066-1485.’
“Junior Miss – bit of a euphemism really,” said Garth. “The Corporation was first on the market with princess products, back in the 1950s. Over the last ten years we’ve experienced exponential growth. Backlash against feminism? Our ability to provide a 360-degree entertainment experience that touches every aspect of a little girl’s life? No-one knows, but everyone’s making money, so that’s all right, right? Right. Only. The princess brand has a tendency to skew younger.”
John looked at me for an explanation.
“Girls like the princess stuff,” I said. “So do their little sisters. Only when the little sisters start buying the products, the older ones decide it’s too babyish. And so on, until – “
“You’ve got it, Ms. Moppet,” said Garth. “Until there’s no market left. The Corporation doesn’t want that. Not at all. Revenue dipped below five billion dollars last year. We had to do something. Tap new markets. There certainly weren’t any in the present. That was when some bright spark thought of the past. So as I say, Junior Miss, that really means Child Brides.”
“Like Queen Isabella?” I said.
“Exactly, Ms. Moppet. These girls – they’re bored. Sitting around waiting to grow up and have children. They’re in dire need of quality entertainment. And they have purchasing power like you would not believe. Your Majesty,” this to John. “You’ve got a country to run, you don’t want to be bothered with a little girl. Wouldn’t you say you’ve enjoyed more peace and quiet in the home since her queenship took out her subscription? We want to bring that peace and quiet to rulers throughout history.”
“The magazine looks a bit different,” I remarked.
“Adapted to the market,” said Garth. “For example. The religious content. Not acceptable in our own time, Ms. Moppet, but the case is very different here. The Junior Misses aren’t crazy about it, but the husbands like to see it. Reassures them that their little girl isn’t reading anything they’d disapprove of. The Wedding Fun section – that had to go, because let’s face it, for these girls, that’s all behind them.”
“As far as I knew,” I said, “only MI5 and the CIA have access to time travel technology. So how…”
“The Corporation has very deep pockets,” said Garth. “Very deep pockets indeed. And we will stop at nothing, and I mean nothing, to bring princess products to Junior Misses everywhere.”
“If you’re doing so well,” said John, “perhaps you could sell the magazine for less? It’s a bit pricey.”
“We recognise that,” said Garth. “We recognise that and we are monitoring the situation. You have to understand, sir, that the shipping costs for the magazine are very high. Not to mention that, as we sell it at the same price from 1066 to 1485, we have to take account of inflation. But we welcome customer feedback, and if there’s anything about the magazine you think we should change, I’d be delighted to hear it.”
John considered.
“There is one thing. You have all these posters of Cinderella in a ball-gown. Well, that’s all very nice, but couldn’t there be a poster of Cinderella topless? Or not wearing anything at all. I think you’ll find the husbands would appreciate that. We’re married to eight-year-olds, we need some entertainment too.”
Garth looked a bit taken aback, but said he would “pass the idea on to top management.”
“We also need to discuss licensing for my continental territories,” said John.
Garth began to look uncomfortable. “Sir, there is already an agreement in place with your overlord for your French territories, Philip Augustus of France. I understand you and he have a summit meeting coming up. Perhaps that would be something to discuss there.”
I emailed Debrett-Burke with an account of the meeting, plus the advice that I seriously doubted the government’s ability to restrain the commercial steamroller that was the Little Princess Corporation. John read it over my shoulder. He was attracted by the idea of instant communication, but thought it was demeaning to have to write your own messages. Suddenly the Blackberry gave a squawk. There was an email from the Little Princes and Princesses Nursery, entitled, ‘Your complaint.’
Dear Parent/Carer/Complainant
We at Little Princes and Princesses Nursery are passionate about providing a secure and courteous service to children and parents/carers at all times. We welcome feedback both positive and negative and aim to resolve all concerns about the running of our Nursery in a satisfactory and timely manner.
We are sending you this acknowledgement of receipt of your complaint in compliance with our Complaints Procedure, which requires us to do so within 5 working days. Your complaint is being investigated by the Childcare Manager and will receive a full and formal response within 15 working days.
Please find attached our Complaints Procedure and Inclusion Policy. We would remind you that a full month of advance notice in writing is required before withdrawing your child. Where inadequate notice is given, a full month’s fees will be payable in lieu.
With very best regards
The Childcare Manager
“If they’re so bloody passionate about providing a courteous service,” said John, “why can’t they be bothered to address one of us by name? Damned insolence. And as for a month’s fees – they can whistle for it.”
He strode up and down the room dictating a reply, which I did my best to translate into language that Mrs Kensington might understand. Her full and formal response, when it arrived, was fairly succinct. We had failed to inform the Nursery that Oscar was of royal blood; however, the Inclusion Co-ordinator felt that any attempt to treat him differently from the other children would have offended against the Nursery’s Inclusion Policy. She did not find, therefore, that we had a valid cause of complaint. If we remained dissatisfied we could, of course, submit a complaint to Ofsted. In the meantime, she reminded us that a month’s fees were owing in lieu of notice not received, in addition to three outstanding Late Pick Up Fees amounting to £250 in total. An invoice was attached.
I advised John that technically, the nursery was in the right and perhaps I should just pay the £1430 and have done with it. He wouldn’t listen. The correspondence became increasingly heated, culminating in his threat to Mrs Kensington that if she failed to appear before him to ‘disculpate’ herself ‘we will always hold you for our enemy, wherever we find you within our dominions, whether on land or water.’
In the meantime, I was busy packing for the state visit to Paris. It had proved impractical to take all of John’s children with us, but he had selected one child from each age group, and Oscar had been chosen from the under-fives. I was delighted that he was going. (The other under-fives were pretty pleased about it too.)
A few nights before we were due to set off the final draft of the programme for the visit arrived.
1 July 1201
1000 The King and Queen of England arrive at the Saint-Denis Gate and are welcomed by the King and Queen of France.
1100 Ceremony of the Presentation of the Key to the City by the Merchants of Paris: Parloir aux Bourgeois
1200 Solemn Mass: Eglise Saint-Denys de La Chapelle
1300 Dinner: Palais de la Cite
1400 Private Prayer and Meditation: Chapelle Saint-Michel
1530 Conversation and exchange of gifts
1800 State Banquet: Palais de la Cité
2 July 1201
0700 Business Breakfast to be followed by a Business Seminar attended by representatives of the Little Princess Corporation (Europe) Ltd.
1100 Solemn Mass: Notre Dame
1200 Dinner: Palais de la Cité
1300 Private Prayer and Meditation: Chapelle Saint-Michel
1400 Kings: bilateral talks
Queens: shopping opportunity
Kings’ Official Mistresses: parallel programme
Court prostitutes: catered mixer
Children: bouncy castle
1600 Water Joust
“Rather a lot of prayer,” I said to John.
“You should have seen the first draft.”
It was decided that we would break our journey at Bishops Waltham Palace. I was especially pleased as the Bishop had promised to allow me access to the scriptorium, where a group of monks were working on the Waltham Chronicle of the Universe. It seemed I would get a first-hand view of how ecclesiastical chronicles were composed on a day-to-day basis.
“You’re in luck, Lady Moppet,” said Brother Walter, when I arrived at the scriptorium. “We were just about to have a story meeting. Do take a seat. Right!” He clapped his hands. “Let’s start with Portents. What Portents have we seen this week?”
None of the little gathering of monks spoke at first. Finally someone said, “Goody Baker’s cat died.”
“Yeah. Not too dramatic, is it? I need bigger. We’re the Chronicle of the Universe, people. I need universal. Can anyone give me universal?”
No-one could.
“Okay. Can we get creative here? Think outside the carrel. King John is on his way to visit the French King. What sort of a portent might we expect?”
“Hail of stones?” “Hail of blood?” “Comet?”
“I’m going for a portent of success,” said Brother Walter. “Yes, Brother Thomas?”
“Could swans be seen swimming in the wake of the King’s fleet as they set off?”
“Yes! Great! Thank you! Someone came to work today!”
“But what if the visit isn’t a success?” asked another monk.
“We put in the usual disclaimer,” said Brother Walter coolly. “’There was much discussion among men as to the significance of this thing, but we, not wishing to blaspheme, will leave it to God to reveal what it portended.’ Good. Now. We need a contrast. We need something dark. We need the Devil. Brother Ambrosius, you’re on Devil Watch. What has the Devil done lately?”
“Goody Baker’s cat died.”
“Yes, we know. Anything else?”
“Not really.”
“Fine, let me put it another way. The Devil sees the friendship growing between the two kings, and the peace and prosperity it will mean for their peoples, and he does not like it. Not at all. What does he do? He sends a great storm to destroy the royal fleet and stop King John reaching the coast.”
“When does he send it?” asked Brother Ambrosius.
“Tomorrow. But, the angels, they get involved, see? Thunderbolts flying in all directions. But the forces of good prevail, and there are no casualties, save for a pig and two cows.”
“And Goody Baker’s cat.”
“Fine. Now, brothers, the lovely Lady Moppet who is joining us today is none other than the mistress to King John. So, can you tell me, Lady Moppet – what dreams has the King had recently?”
The night before we left Marlborough, John, after snacking on a lot of cheese and a bag of Maltesers, had had a nightmare about being chased round the castle by a giant squirrel. Something told me he would prefer that I did not share this with the Waltham Chronicle of the Universe.
“Kings usually dream about their crowns,” said Brother Walter. “Did King John maybe dream that, say, his crown fell off? Or was blown off by a strong gust of wind?”
“Um, yes, but it caught on a branch and he got it back.”
“Right! And the very next day, the same thing happened in real life?”
“Well – “
“Good! Brother Stephen, you write that up.”
“How do I interpret it?” Brother Stephen wanted to know.
“Usual disclaimer,” said Brother Walter. “’These things are more to be marvelled at than debated, etc., etc.’ Right! Lady Moppet! Our illuminator has been hard at work. Here are the business cards for yourself and the lord King.”
The business cards were beautiful. John’s was illuminated with the English heraldic lions and ‘Johannes Rex.’ Below that were all his titles, beginning with King of England. Mine said, ‘Lady Moppet of Yorkshire,’ beneath that, ‘Mistress to King John’ and beneath that ‘Mother of Oscar.’
“That last line is in very small writing,” I observed to John when I handed over his cards.
“So more children can be added on. I told them to leave space for up to sixteen.”
Okay. “Well, the cards are nice, but this chronicle they’re writing is terrible. They’re just making it up. You should really hire someone to set the record straight.”
John was supremely unconcerned.
“Chronicles! Who pays any attention to those rags? I read them once. Then they go to the mews to line the falcons’ cages.”
Before leaving the bishop’s palace we attended Mass.
“Forgot my wallet,” John whispered to me as the collection bag passed round. “Could you…”
All I had was a bag of chocolate coins bought for Oscar, so we put that in. It was rather a warm day, and we did not waste any time over our departure.
