We were not being paranoid. Where people who
believe the world should belong to only one of them meet, there have to be
hidden microphones.
In the basement of the posh restaurant, the
moles Rupert and Swithin, most able of all mole spies, were busy filming and
recording all that was taking place among the diners at the different
tables.
“There is a gang of kids at Titania’s table
that is making me deaf,” said Rupert. “I don’t know why people bring kids and
pets to restaurants like this one. They don’t know how to behave. I bet they
are breaking and soiling everything and sorely trying the patience of the other
diners. I can’t take any more of this. I’m going to spy on another table.”
“I’m doing table three,”said Swithin. “It’s
Adamina’s table. The poor thing sounds like she has a terrible depression.”
She had to fix with an invisible hand all the
small mistakes and setbacks that moderate people make and suffer when they
trade freely so all could benefit from this. But lately she was not dealing
with moderate people.
“I’m dealing with a growing number of fools, egotists and cads.
This is getting to be too much for me,” she was fretting.
“Then you are saying you would be happier if
only one shameless fool had all the money and caused all the problems?” Mr.
Adam Smith, the philosopher, was learning that his theories on free trade might
not be appropriate when dealing with a certain growing class of people in the fairy world.
“What she is saying is what I have always
said,” intervened Mr. Thomas Robert Malthus. “There are too many people, more every
day, and there aren’t enough resources for everyone to be contented.”
“What I am saying,” insisted Adamina, “is that I
can’t work with so many fools, egotists and cads! Unbelievers. Rotten unbelievers in good will. In anything good.”
Table two was conspiring against Neptune, the
planet. Table four wanted to melt down the Holy Grail to make a necklace for
somebody’s ladyfriend. And at table five was Prime Minister Binky.
“He’s dining with what sounds like a
know-it-all child. Is it that he is divorced and it is his turn to walk his
son?” asked Rupert.
Swithin turned to the monitor Rupert was using
to spy on Binky.
“That kid is the great wizard Merlin. He lives
backwards in time and is getting younger every day. Binky went all the way to
the South Pole to find him.”
Merlin was saying he did not want to be headmaster
of Binky’s school for explaining humans to fairies.
“But why not?” insisted Binky. “Like me, you have always
been interested in humans. You even educated one so he would rule the rest.”
“That was cute while it lasted but it didn’t
amount to much,” said the boy in the white shirt and violet pants and bowtie
that was Merlin today.“I don’t like to have to say this but it could be that
humans are beyond help.”
“What do you mean it didn’t amount to much?
People still remember Camelot with reverence.”
“Yes, and now and again someone tries to use it
to further his or her often questionable ends. But the truth is I have never
really been a child before and I don’t want to pass to the Great Beyond without
having been one.”
“But it is now when you have the experience to
do things really well!”
But Merlin would not be persuaded. Perhaps if
he managed to be reborn he might want to try again. But not now. His body was
at its most flexible and he felt as if he were made of rubber. He wanted to
dedicate the time he had left to figure ice skating. He might never have
another chance to do that. That was why Binky had found him training in the
Artic.
“Ah!” said Swithin. “Get a load of what is
happening at table six. The hussy who tried to auction the verbal tenses doesn’t
have a red cent to her name since Curmudgeon Finn repudiated her. The bloke she
is sitting with must have invited her here. I have no idea who he is.”
“Yes, you do,” said Rupert. “That is the pirate
Boogerbeard. The one who means to deal in fuels and resources from now on.”
“What?”
“Guess why you don’t recognize him!”
It turned out Basiliska Chookfeather had
managed to catch Salty Boogerbeard’s fancy and had persuaded him to change his
look. Since he couldn’t shut at eye to rest and look better for fear his
enemies would come for him, he’d had a dentist fix his teeth and plastic
surgeons had stuffed silicone into his lips. He had also shaved off the
repulsive beard he used to wipe his nose with and had surgery performed on his
proboscis. Now it was straight, the right size for his face and no longer
snotty. His voice had changed too. It was far sexier.
“Right now he is under a gorgeous spell. Every
hour that passes he gets more attractive,” said Rupert. “He thinks that if he
betters his image people will forget who he was and how he made his money. He
thinks that if he is goodlooking as well as rich, no one will snub him. Everyone
will want to be like him. He wants to look like a model so he can be a role
model.”
“For evil youngsters?”
“Salty, you already look twenty years younger,”
sighed Basiliska. “And before dinner is over you will be able to table hop and
say hi to Titania just to make Oberon jealous.You know how handsome he thinks
he is.”
A curly haired amoretto shook his golden locks
and flapped his white wings and fluttered next to Salty’s chair.
“I’m Angelino, your sommelier.We don’t
recommend taking wheat grass juice at night, sir. It’s pure chlorophyll and
people get so hyper that –“
“The wine steward should let the pirate treat
the free market fairy to that wheat grass juice. She might react and feel up to
landing him in jail,” said Rupert.
“Oh, look!” interrupted Swithin. “They have
just handed Oberon his bill. Sixteen thousand mortal euros. That’s not so
expensive if you consider all the people who have been eating at his table. Not
just his kids. He’s invited lots of tablehoppers to cakes and
cava. His
wife sounds cross."
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