Nanowrimo 2022

Be Sure

American Kingdom Day 26

Previous scene:

“Be sure your sins will find you out,” my Mom always used to say when she suspected me of mischief.

With good reason usually, I was an independent-minded tyke.

Her words had a great effect on me; I did my very best to conceal my sins. If there was one thing I was sure of, my parents didn’t know everything. As I grew older, I took more care; my exploits in high school would have turned her hair white, I have no doubt at all.

I still remember her fondly, and on the increasingly unlikely chance that I might one day produce offspring, I’ll use the same words and make damn sure I’m not outwitted by some punk toddler.

It looked like our sins had well and truly been found out.

Duke Francis held up his hand.

“Sir Brian? Francis of Charleston here. Don’t go.”

“Your Grace? Molly said you were there,” Marion’s voice on the phone. “How are you?”

“Never better. I think I’ve just intruded on a cabal of conspirators conniving to cheat their way to being top student.” He glared at we three. “Thoroughly approve, by the way. The more skullduggery the better!”

“I don’t think they got much out of Brian. He was moaning about how unfairly they had treated him, and how he had missed out on a romp in the Missouri hay — oh you were, darling, it’s been thirty years, you’re an open book to me — and how he longs for the good old days.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have a regiment to give him. Lord knows there are days when a few dozen helicopter gunships would solve a lot of my problems. We all have our parts to play and he’s doing a fine job right where he is.”

The two sergeants had entered the classroom, along with Oscar and Annie.

“Lady Marion, always good to talk with you. My very best regards to Mister Duchess. I think I’ll have to drop in at KC on my way home, have a chat to the Prince about the deplorable behaviour of the students here.”

He winked at me and handed my phone back.

“Everyone here? Good, no let’s not bother with any of that saluting crap. I have a lesson on protocol to give! Sit down, sit down.”

He perched on the edge of a table and surveyed us.

“I’m Francis, Duke of Charleston. On meeting me, you address me as ‘Your Grace’, and ‘Sir’ thereafter. I rank below the Princes and Princesses of our nation, and above Counts, and Earls, and Baronets and all that rabble, pardon me, Sir Brian.

“Our great nation does not have a system of nobility, let alone royalty, so why do we do this? You!”

He pointed his nose at Hazel.

“I, um, Your Grace, it is to show respect to the Heavenly King and his representatives here on Earth.”

“Excellent answer. Wrong! Anybody else?”

Well, I was empty. Maybe Oscar would know, he was a smart cookie.

He aimed his gaze at me. “Molly!”

I thought back to the hours after I had first met him. Brian had answered that question with the response Francis dismissed. Marion had come up with an alternate view.

“Because we belong to an organization that is above the law of the land and by using titles forbidden to Americans we show our rank and position within the system. It becomes crystal clear who is in charge. There is no confusion.”

“Better. You, the lawyer.”

Annie and Oscar were too close together for even Francis’s long skinny nose to pick them out.

“Because it impresses the hell out of the people who fund the Kingdom.”

“Exactly right. Someone comes along to my ducal palace South of Broad wanting a favour, I can charge them a lot more than if I operate out of a trailer park in Hanahan.

“Okay. This is not to say that the previous two answers are incorrect. If you have love and respect and duty to the Lord first and foremost in your heart, you are on the correct path. But the same may be said for any pastor in a tin shed with a dinky little chipboard steeple on top somewhere in Gasconade County, and you may bet that that guy does not get to ride around in a private jet with an elite commando squad at his side ready to perform the work of Jesus. We give ourselves airs and graces because we deserve them and vice versa.”

He paused.

“We have a handout with the levels of nobility, forms of address and so on. These may also be found in the Guide to the Kingdom, a copy of which may be found in the bookshelf there, and I dare say that my friend the Prince will personally give you each a copy when you graduate, possibly as soon as Wednesday if I read my tea leaves correctly.”

Sergeant Hart passed along the front row giving each of us a few stapled pages.

“If you turn to the second page,” Duke Francis went on, “You will see the first levels. Ex-service members such as yourselves will pass out of this course with a rank and level of pay commensurate to your service level. If you held a commission, you may expect to be granted a knighthood after a year of service. Male knights are called ‘Sir’ and female knights are called ‘Lady’. Not ‘Dame’.

“The rest of you enlisted types may have to wait a while longer but with solid service, good reports, and dare I say it, the favourable eye of a sponsor in high places, you will begin to climb the ladder. Progress within the nobility after that is more a matter of politics than merit, I’m afraid, and you would do well to cultivate sources within the Palace. For that, I can recommend a slender volume, also found in the bookshelf here, called The Prince by an Italian gentleman, Niccolò Machiavelli. For bonus points, I recommend the translation by one Francis Scott, that is to say, me. The appendices make for particularly instructive reading.”

Annie raised her hand.

“Recruit Dansom?”

“So far we’ve been told to read and study four books, beginning with the Bible. It’s only Day One of the course. Are we going to be issued a footlocker to hold our personal library?”

Duke Francis smiled.

“That’s only the beginning. You’ll acquire technical manuals as you progress. Most likely you’ll write books of your own if you are any good at all. We share our knowledge and point each other to wisdom. One thing I heartily recommend is that you begin a journal. Write down the spiritual lessons learned here. Getting drunk in the club every night may be pleasant, but will gain you now lasting rewards.”

“Any more questions, please save them to the end of this period. I want to cover the history and development of the Kingdom now.”

Formed after the Civil War, treated as a bit of a joke, a new impetus after the Second World War and a change of direction with Reagan, the Kingdom was now a quiet but determined force on the global stage, able to advise and intervene.

“For a price. Always.”

We came to the end of the period as per the timetable but Duke Francis continued on until he had covered his material to his satisfaction.

“Ten-minute break,” Sergeant Hart at last announced, and I looked at Hazel and Nathan. We were close to cracking the code, I thought, and we had some tough decisions to make.

“Molly,” Duke Francis at my side. “Walk with me, please.”

Next chapter:

The whole story:

Notes

Why is there a Ford pick-up truck as a lead image? Because I was dreaming of one, kind of. Don’t ask. Besides. I’m getting tired of AI images that are rarely quite the thing I wanted. I don’t have time to massage them into perfection, and they usually don’t reflect the actual contents, anyway. Might as well dive into fantasyland, hey?

This chapter — and yes, I was dreaming of what I’d write as well, troubled nights recently — goes into history a little bit. Maybe Camp Whiffie was once an agricultural property. Does look a bit like backwoods Missouri there, don’t you think?

Golly but I love Duke Francis. More Ribblesdale than Marvin, I think. I hope I can do him justice.

Coming into this day of writing I had three tasks. Molly and her friends had to work out the secret of the course, Sir Brian had to confirm the suspicion, and Duke Francis had to show up and upset the apple pie cart.

I’m not convinced that I’ve got everything exactly how it should be. Duke Francis could be a bit more trenchant and acerbic but it will do for the moment. He’s a lot of fun to write; always reading away from whatever script I’ve come up with.

I’d best crack open The Prince. I haven’t looked at it since university.

Writing-wise, I’m on the home stretch. Tomorrow could be difficult because I have obligations, and I’ll also run out of plot and be back into ‘peer through the fog’ territory. But I know where I’m going and so long as I give myself time to think, I’ll work out the details.

Most likely I’ll reach 50,000 words and be nowhere near the crisis I’ve got planned. Have to go back and trim here and there to make it a readable novel rather than a fat one.

Molly