19 April

Day 19

Political poem alert

A very good thing

And the King in confinement, (his pale hair even more distrait than usual, coughing with every breath, and every cough was written down as gospel or bon mots, by courtiers eager to please as his feet rested on the velvet footstool of monarchy)

agreed that it was a VERY GOOD THING that the oldest in the land should work to help the people. An old soldier navigated his garden, his medals bobbing as he stepped, a woman in the Highlands scaled a mountain by means of her own stairs. The people cheered them on, gazing through their quarantine windows, hearing about their efforts from the Pushmedia birds.

And everything they did was repaid with gold coin, flying through the air like magic, spun from straw and in turn helping the people, who were grateful. And everyone agreed this was a GOOD THING, and clapped themselves on the back, and on each other’s backs and even the court ravens hopped a little.

And only one child asked, in a thin and uncertain voice,
“Excuse me, aren’t these venerable sages, these worthy elders become walkers to raise the gold to pay for what the King should have provided in the first place? Have you forgotten all the years when the King and the King before the King stole gold from the people, and scribbled nonsense on the plans, so there was nothing left to save us?”

And the Vizier coughed and the Vizier hesitated and no one gave an answer. And the sub-Vizier cleared his throat and the sub-Vizier meandered about a point. And the sub-sub-Vizier blamed the weather.

And the King, as you’ll find out, fearing some kind of awkward question – exactly how may heirs did he have , what about that recent scandal, did he really cancel council meetings to spend it hunting wild geese –was very silent.

The King feigned that he had lost his voice and to this day, no one in the land knows where to find it