An Isle of Fancy

After the operable vehicles were driven away and three donkeys were employed to drag the black Mercedes to an auto repair shop, the remaining dignitaries--or at least those not off in pursuit of cream tarts, such as the Mrs. King, Ms. Patty Pickly, and Ms. Frannie Finger--and King Nocturnal, whose whereabouts during the odd motorcade remain a mystery to this day, gathered for a momentous meeting in the chambers of the good King. Missing for that meeting, and probably not invited in the first place, were Priest Darrell Precious and Ms. Nancy Droosha who nearly were home by now, or, in Ms. Nancy’s case, back at work. Since such meetings with international diplomats were heretofore unknown in Dalilennon, at least during the reign (and possibly lifetime), of the good King, there were no formal rules of conduct to abide by, no Roberts Rules of Order fresh in anyone’s mind. And so, King Nocturnal undertook a semi-strange, impromptu approach to the meeting that left Straight and McTea, who never agreed on anything, uniformly scratching their heads in disbelief. King Nocturnal assumed the role of a Cub Scout den mother wanting new parents to feel at ease at a Webelos initiation, and summarily took it upon himself to grab each participant at the meeting, with one exception, by the back of their right arms and guide them to their assigned seat around a large oak (or was it teak?) conference table. The exception, of course, was Ms. Sylvia, the only female in the immediate group, for to honor her gender the good King escorted Ms. Smitharomance promenade-style to her seat. Then, good King Nocturnal took to his throne. Manual McGetitdone, after chancing a glance a Ms. Sylvia’s tan legs visible beneath the mini-skirt she’d donned for the motorcade, broke a lengthy silence after it became obvious the good King had no intention of using his authority to speak first. “I suppose you’re wondering what brings us to Dalilennon?” The good King nodded in assent, and Manual McGetitdone, with help from Ms. Sylvia and Norbert Nodahead, delivered a well-prepared presentation proposing a mutual defense pact between Eglicata and Dalilennon. The benefits for Dalilennon, according to the three Eglicatanese diplomats, would be dazzling. Eglicata would be a major ally responsive to the isle of fancy’s every need; be it medical supplies, technology, television sets, or straight-out brotherly armaments for defense. The room’s inhabitants, except the good King, all sat along the King’s long, wooden conference table that faced to the west, focused on King Nocturnal whose throne pointed back at them in an easterly direction. From his elevated perch, set at a slightly higher level than even this talk of preservation and munitions was privy to, King Nocturnal listened, ruled in his mind, and said little. King Nocturnal watched with silent amusement as a child crept into the conference room, unnoticed by the Eglicatans or the king’s advisors, and cranked the little-used heating fan in the room to the max. King Nocturnal gravely nodded in assent when young Jean Paul, fresh from a tomato patch, looked toward the king and grinned big-time. King Nocturnal always had liked the giant heating fan. He’d installed it during the first year of his reign, twenty-six or twenty-seven years earlier, to combat each year’s three to five days of cold weather, and it had paid dividends. Granted, today wasn’t such a cold day, but a little added warmth wouldn’t bother. The good King had a mischievous streak of his own, and began wondering whom from among his guests would be first to protest the additional warmth. Norbert Nodahead soon began to wilt. His bald head, which wouldn’t have been bald if his hair-stimulant gel had arrived before he’d left Eglicata on this lark to help secure a warped type of world peace, began seeping, weeping with sweat, as did his face and neck. He wiped all aside with a white kerchief and continued listening attentively. Ms. Sylvia, too, felt the humid heat, as did Manual McGetitdone. Like Norbert, they chose to ignore the inconvenience. When Poncho McTea began grumbling about “that damned heater,” Malcolm Straight took liberty to rise from the table and open a hinged window several steps to the rear of where he, McTea, and the others were seated. The Eglicatan diplomats droned on, not noticing when a rope flashed outside the plane of the open window behind them; not noticing when red tennis shoes, then a black priest’s frock with a skinny body in it clambered down the rope to a listening vantage out of sight just below the sill of the window. “And so it is, Your Excellency ( a name to the good King’s liking that often was repeated that day), that the mighty nation of Eglicata, fearing for the safety of our friends at sea, wish to join Dalilennon in an unprecedented pact of goodwill, trade, and neighborliness highlighted by this sturdy defense treaty I hold in my hand.