Professor Howe was styling in/out as he walked around the city streets. He had just bought a rather hideous purple suit and wearing it he looked like a giant plum. He thought about pulling out his trumpet from his inside pocket and giving it a blow, but he wasn’t trying to draw attention to himself this time. However outrageous his suit seemed, given the current year and the fashion faux-pas of the general population, he fitted in better than a foot in a well-made winkle-picker.
His companion, Lara Kane, author, journalist and media personality was around 5’5”, very pretty with medium brown hair and dressed in a much more restrained manner. She had a printed white T-shirt, blue slacks and a pair of sensible shoes which were practical to run in. Her outfit was topped with a leather biker jacket which she was given by her ex-boyfriend. The Professor and her made an incongruous pair as they strolled along the pavements.
Though they were strangers in town, they were aware that something momentous was about to happen. The Professor’s ridiculous outfit was barely getting a glance and crowds of people were beginning to line the streets.
“At least this place does seem better than the last one,Professor,” said Lara. “I’ve still got my eye on you though. That last trip where we met the Tarrants was hardly a barrel of laughs.”
“Oh, here is definitely going to be fun.” The Professor’s voice was so certain that it verged on disconcerting. “We’re about tosee a very historic event.”
“Are we? You never said.”
“Didn’t I?” Professor Howe smiled. He knew he hadn’t let slip where they were going this time because he wanted it to be a surprise and everything was working out perfectly.
“No.” She stared at him, but he remained enigmatic. “You haven’t even told me where we are. It feels and smells like Earth.”
“Yes - we’re in Poeland.”
Lara was skeptical. “Poland? All the signs are in English and that bloke in the tailors spoke with a Yorkshire accent.”
“No, no, no, no, no. Poeland with an ‘E’,” corrected the Professor.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“Very few have. The adopted home of the Brussel sprout and, as you have already probably guessed,
the country’s a backwater. Once it wasin Europe, then it was out of Europe. I forget where it is now, but it’s very good at the hokey-cokey.”
“You’re not making sense,” scolded Lara.
“I very rarely do,” admitted the Professor. “However, one thing that the Poelish are good at is patriotism and pageantry.”
“Is that why we’re here?” A thought crossed Lara’s mind and she beamed hopefully. “Are you taking me to a coronation? I’ve always wanted to see one of those.”
“Erm, no. Sadly Poeland doesn’t have a King or Queen, even though they probably should have.”
“Some kind of military parade with plenty of pomp and circumstance?”
“No.”
“Are you sure this is something I am going to enjoy?”
“Well…” Professor Howe hesitated.
Lara had seen this kind of expression on the Professor’s face before and thoughts of dread suddenly began to fill her mind. She stared hard at the Professor as if shewas trying to X-ray him and snapped, “What then?”
The Professor grabbed the lapels on his jacket and stood proudly as if he was completely right about everything ever in the entire universe. “Lara, my dear, we’ve come to Sawwar, the capital of Poeland, to see a spectacle unrivalled in the galaxy. We’re going to see a funeral…”
***
Mari was in tears and not because she had seemingly lost an ‘E’ in her name and Poeland had gained one. She had lost the love of her life.
For the most part, Mari had stayed in the background barely making an appearance at any event or photo opportunity, but now fate had thrust her into the limelight like a bull on heat. She had been the former President’s partner for the last eleven months and, although he had the reputation of being unfaithful and unable to keep control of his libido, she knew he had only had a quick dalliance with Wilma, his secretary. After her mysterious death, she had forgiven him – and why not? For Horace, one indiscretion in almost a year was a record.
She wept. Tears stained her thirty-three-year-old face as she mourned the loss of her fifty-five-year-old partner and she tried hard to hold herself together.
“He really loved me,” she sobbed. “Especially when…”
“There, there…” consoled the man beside her. “You don’t need to talk about that. You just need to get yourself through this. Then you can tell me where…”
The man was interrupted by a short, brutal and unconventionally attractive woman who strode up like a clockwork soldier. She stretched up and slapped him hard across the face.
“We’ll have none of that, Mr Moony admonished the would-be tyrant. “Just get back to your work and leave the lady in peace.”
Bert Moony’s jaw started wobbling in trauma and tears poured down. “B… b.. but Lucy…”
“Get lost, Bert. You might be one of the richest people in the country, but you need to man up.” Lucy’s turn was firm and dismissive, and she watched him scuttle off like the little rat he was. She turned back towards Mari. “Ignore him. He’s got more money in tax havens than he knows what to do with. We get away with murder,but Bert is really stuffing the brown envelope.”
Mari tried to smile, but the sadness was still there. “Thanks, Lucy. You are lovely.”
‘Lovely’Lucy smiled, her Satan’s Spawn lipstick glinting in the light. It was one of those malicious smirks an evilgenius who has a portrait in the attic would allow to cross their lips and one that no one, apart from the people not involved in the exposition, would notice.
“You’ll have to walk with the coffin now,” said Lucy, who didn’t appear to have a surname. “The flag wavers will all follow you and you’ll be fine. You need to hold it together for the country.”
“Thanks for the pressure,” puffed Mari before she took a deep breath.
“Good luck.”
Head down, she strode forward beside the horse drawn carriage containing the coffin of her beloved. She thought back to happier times and places, but it just made the tears flow faster and more frequent. Damn she loved him. She would really miss President Horace...
TO BE CONTINUED...
