“Let us go farther south,” he said, and walked a few paces forward.
He found, however, no ships, no naval base.
“Would you yourself know where they are?” asked the King of Cartwheeler, who was only just then catching up with them, half-dead from the unfamiliar matinal exertion.
“I do not know, my lord, I have never been this far abroad,” he replied, gasping for breath. “But maybe we could ask this sleeping bargeman.”
And placing his hands in front of his mouth so as to form a cone, he cried out:
“Hey there!.. Bargeman!.. Wake up!..”
The one-armed man twitched his single hand ever so slightly and slowly, but did not wake up.
“Wait,” said the Prince.
And, tugging at the rope, he pulled the two boats close to the riverbank.
“Ahoy there, bargeman! Hey, bargeman!” Cartwheeler cried out once more.
The one-armed man sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“What is the matter?” he asked in a sleepy voice.
“Where are the navy and the naval base?” enquired the King.
With a brisk jump, the one-armed man stood up and gave a sharp military salute.
“Present and correct!” he cried out.
“Where are the navy and the naval base?” asked the King again, thinking that the man had not understood him the first time.
“Present and correct!” repeated the one-armed man a little more loudly, without breaking off his salute.
“He does not understand!” said the King, disheartened. “My good man, can you listen to what I am saying to you? Where are the ships and the sailors?”
“Present! Present and present again,” screamed the one-armed man, with such energy that the veins of his throat swelled to bursting point, while standing hard as a board he continued to present his military salute.
The Prince tried to make him understand in turn.
“We are looking for the King’s ships,” he explained.
“Prrrresent!” repeated the one-armed man. “The Royal Navy, comprising of the vessels Fright and Turmoil, present and correct! The navy of His Majesty the King present and correct!”
King Witless jumped.
“What’s that?” he cried out, mortified. “What names did you say?”
“Fright and Turmoil, my dining room and bedroom. At your disposal, should you desire to visit them,” said the one-armed man, with a smile that split his face from one ear to the other.
The Prince turned ashen.
“And the naval base? Where is the naval base?” he asked.
“Prrrresent!” replied again the one-armed man, indicating the blackened stones that lined the rock face all the way down to the very edge of the riverbank.
“Wait a second, now,” said the King nervously, sweeping his son aside. “He does not understand, surely. Listen here, my good man, tell me where the Supreme Commander of the Army lives.”
The one-armed man stretched out his hand and pointed vaguely westward.
“Abroad,” he said briefly.
“And the Admiral-in-Chief… the Royal Admiral… there has to be an admiral somewhere, for heaven’s sake!”
“We have nothing of the sort in this place.”
“Commanders, sailors, ships, in God’s name, where are all of these?”
“Present,” said again the one-armed man.
And pointing proudly at his shabby old feluccas:
“Navy, present and correct.”
Then, thumping his chest:
“Commander, sailor and the rest, present and correct! Look not for more, my lord, for there is no more to be found.”
He picked up a plank that lay in one of his feluccas, shoved it to the bank, where he made it secure.
“Come, and be welcome in my little palace,” he said with his wide smile, bowing all the way to the ground and placing his hand, fingers outstretched, onto his breast. “Your servant, my good lords!”
“Let us go home, father,” said the Prince, “we have learnt all that we needed to know.”
And with heads bowed low they headed for the tower.
VII. New Revelations
THEY WALKED BACK under the scorching midday heat; when they arrived, they saw Little Irene, who was beckoning to them to come closer.
“The meal is ready,” she said joyfully. “Do tell me whether or not I got the stew just right!”
The King stopped short.
“You are the one who cooked?” he asked sullenly. “We will be in a fine mess when the Queen finds out.”
Little Irene’s happiness vanished instantly and completely. Crestfallen, she followed her father.
The table was laid, the stew was served, the glasses and plates were at each person’s appointed place.
The equerry Polycarpus put the fruit in a serving bowl, and placed it before the Queen.
“Oh! What beautiful blackberries and strawberries!” Queen Barmy said delightedly. “What King or glittering magnate could have sent these to us, I wonder?”
“You dream of nothing but Kings and rich magnates,” said the King peevishly, for he was himself thinking about his ships and about the King his Royal Uncle, and Faintheart’s letter — and was therefore in a most foul mood. “The great donor and benefactor is dead, my fine lady, and his son will give out no more gifts.”
The Queen pulled a long face. She pushed her plate away from her and leant back on her chair with majestic disdain.
All of a sudden, however, she smelt the stew, and her appetite was rekindled.
“Game fowl! Game fowl with wilted lettuce!” she exclaimed, forgetting all her sulking and petty antics. “My favourite food! Ah, well done to the cook for remembering! Summon him, quick. I shall appoint him… what should I appoint him, my king?”
“It is perfectly useless to seek out titles,” said the King curtly. “The cook did not prepare the food, indeed we do not have a cook at all any more, or so it would seem. It is Little Irene who got the idea in her head to replace him.”
The Queen let out a scream of sheer horror: “My own daughter! My own daughter a cook!”
Her nerves failed her yet again; she rose from the table and ran to her room.
Little Irene glanced at her brother, and met his own saddened gaze. She wiped away a tear in secret, and sat at the table with a deep sigh.
There was a sudden ringing of bells a few moments later, which deafened them all.
“Run,” said the King to the maids-in-waiting, “quick, the Queen sends for you.”
They both rose sulkily, casting greedy glances at the stew.
“Little Irene,” said the dark-haired one with sweet flattery, “do save me some, joy be to your bright little eyes!”
“For me too,” echoed the blonde one.
Yet she was too bored to add anything more. She went as far as the door, let the other one go through first, then turned the other way, and sat again sluggishly at her place.
The first maid-in-waiting was back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.
“The Queen demands stew and watercress,” she said, winking meaningfully at Spitefulnia. “We are not, she says, to forget the strawberries, because she craves them most awfully.”
“The Queen’s nerves cannot long resist the mighty temptation of food,” said Spitefulnia sarcastically.
“In that, she resembles your own royal ladyship…” replied Jealousia.
Before she could finish her sentence, Spitefulnia’s glass was flying across the table, striking her on the forehead.
“You witch!” screamed Jealousia.
In an instant, the table had become a riotous mess, plates and glasses were being hurled across the room, and the few remaining ones would have been smashed then too, if the Prince had not had the time to push Jealousia into her room and lock the door. He then took hold of the raging Spitefulnia and locked her in a second room.