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Driving Lessons Chapter 75 - Tea for Two
"I'm telling you, none of this would have happened if I'd been allowed to use my owl impression calls like I said and then they would never have caught us," America told Den, Prussia and Russia who all stood in his bedroom.
"You were never caught. It was England who was the unfortunate one to now be in the enemy's hands," Russia pointed out, talking as if they were in a war and England was being held in captivity by some unseen enemy. Indeed, Russia was waving a faucet pipe very menacingly and looked ready to go into battle. He was also carrying Charlemagne under one arm and Mr Panda's toy panda under the other.
America, sat in his bed, in his Spiderman jim jams, did not argue. He had had precisely 1 hour 22 minutes' sleep.
The others had decided to wake America when there had been an unforeseen emergency. One that had made Russia almost slam a pipe into the tv in frustration. Namely, the tv had gone off, as had the lights, the electric kettle, in fact everything that was electricity powered.
"So no tv?" America said. Again.
Russia nodded. He had just got hooked on the latest tv channel named BBC Scotland and thought, erroneously as it turned out that Scotland was speaking in some long-forgotten Russian dialect. He was also amazed at the sight of Yorkshire and Brian the duck presenting the weather. He thought that the English were truly progressive to allow a duck to do the weather forecast.
"It is as bad as Operation Barbarossa," Russia said. "And there were no ducks there," he added mysteriously.
Prussia gulped.
Charlemagne/Carl/Karol looked up at Russia and said, "Frag." It is unsure if he was swearing or not. Prussia thought so.
"This kid's right," Prussia said. "We need to sort this out. Who's gonna pay the bills if England's not here? The electricity's been cut off. We think it's to do with these red bills that have been arriving."
Russia nodded. "I cannot keep asking my boss for a million ruble cheque all the time."
"And I ain't asking my boss either," America said.
"Why not? Doesn't he have that kind of money?" Russia asked, a smirk on his face.
America didn't answer.
"My boss won't let me have any money since I used the last lot to buy a speedboat," Denmark said.
"Then sell the speedboat and we can pay the electric bill," America said.
"Firstly, 'sell the speedboat' are not three words I ever want to hear from you again," Prussia lectured. "And another, we no longer have the speedboat." (It was odd how it was now 'we', Denmark noted.)
"Why?" Russia asked.
"Ba?" The child asked.
"We drove it too fast past the palace, drove it up a bank and across the courtyard and then hit a wall. His boss wasn't happy that's why he's been exiled for a bit."
"How long for?" America asked. He was already bored.
"As long as it takes for me to repay the cost of rebuilding the royal palace," Denmark said.
"What's the cost?" Russia asked, his eyes were wide.
"About 2 million euros."
America yawned. "So no electricity? No TV? No video games? This is serious, men!" He leapt out of bed. "Let's do this and break that dude out of prison."
"We don't know where he is," Prussia said.
"I thought you told Fancy-pants where he was?"
"I did that to get rid of France."
"So where's France?"
"Pap," the child said.
Earlier…
"Lalalalala…" France sang and hummed to himself as he stepped between the guests of the garden party. He looked amazing (in his head). The food was not. "English cucumber sandwiches," he muttered to himself. He handed his FREE KIRKLAND placard to a waiter and looked around for a glass of wine. There were none.
"Are there any alcoholic beverages?" He asked a snooty looking man.
"You mean wine?"
"Oui."
"Only tea, old chap. And you should refer to me as Your Highness."
"Pourquoi?" France asked, but didn't wait for the answer. It wasn't important. He took his placard back from the waiter, who was being asked where the free Kirklands were, and went hunting for the Queen.
It would have been a nice afternoon for France and his plan may have worked if the newly wedded bride didn't scream when she saw him as if he were the one who had given her a dead mouse.
"You stole my tiara!" She shouted, somewhat accusingly France thought.
France looked around. Realised she was pointing at him, handed his placard back to the waiter and ran for it. He wasn't used to running and in England's words he ran like a 'pansy' - his arms and legs flailed but it got the job done and he vaulted over a bush, shoved open a window and jumped inside.
Once actually inside the Palace he looked at the various furniture that he was usually not allowed, under any circumstances, to park his derriere on, schmoozed his said derriere on the best chairs just for something to tell England later and then ran out of the room as several security guards jumped through the window after him.
"You will never catch me! I am like ze Scarlet Pimpernel!" He called over his shoulder.
He then fell over a Persian rug, stumbled forward several steps his forward motion at the mercy of physics (of which France had never studied) and his head struck a door and being rather hard (Nations were quite tough, even one such as France) his head went straight through it. He thus found himself with his head stuck in a door looking at the room within - the Palace Throne Room.
"Madame La Queen!" He shouted. "Yoohoo!"
'Madame la Queen' was actually trying to knight someone. That someone looked like a failed 90s pop star and an unfortunate event happened as France yelled 'yoohoo', the sword slipped and if the said pop star hadn't been wearing an elaborate thick wool scarf for the unseasonably cold day, it's fair to say he would have been decapitated.
"Oh mon dieu!" France exclaimed, pulled his head out of the hole in the door and tried to turn round but found himself now face to face with several security men.
"I've just had the weirdest text from bruder," Prussia said, holding up his (in America's eyes) crappy Nokia.
The others shrugged.
"It says he's in a police station with Italy. He's been arrested for throwing a pizza at a member of the royal family!"
"Your brother? Wow." America said. "I thought he was a boring fart."
"We all did." Denmark said.
Russia just growled and said to Charlemagne who was in his arms, "Germany is a bad man."
"Da," Charlemagne seem to agree.
"Give me that kid," America said. "We don't want him turning Russian."
Russia hung on to the child and glared at America, "Go and rescue England," he said. "Leave the child with me. He will not be Russian," he added but with a hint that he might grow up as something worse. Perhaps Belorussian.
"He says he's there with… get this - flipping England!" Prussia said excitedly. Prussia had taken to saying English words such as 'flipping', 'bloody' and 'blimey'.
"Right let's go, men! Russia you stay here with Charlie dude while we execute a rescue!" He hurried out of the door, realised he was still in Spiderman jammies, ran back in and pulled on what he thought was his best suit.
"He also says… Austria is there trying to bail them out." Prussia said.
"Karol, you will stay with me and I will tell you the tale of Baba Yaga," Russia said to the child and went downstairs. "But first we will go next door to see if they have BBC Scotland on their television."
(What Russia really meant was that he intended to invade the next door neighbour and take over their television.)
"I don't think BBC Scotland is what you think it is," Prussia said, following America out the door.
"I think the duck makes it," Denmark said wisely.
"Прощай" Russia called after them as he hopped over the fence into George IV and Rosemarie's garden.
"What did he say? Was it something about me being awesome?" America asked Prussia.
Prussia shuddered, trying to staunch his bleeding nose (he always got a nosebleed when hearing Russian or trying to translate Russian), "He says goodbye."
"Fine then!" America said, clearly in some kind of huff.
"You do not understand! I was trying to rescue Arthur Kirkland from a fate worse than death!" France was protesting to the Royal security team.
They stood in the corridor. The minor celebrity was being treated for cuts to his neck. He was glaring at France.
"A fate worse than death? Has he been captured by enemy agents?" One of the security men asked.
"Worse! Much worse! He is missing his morning cup of tea! Do you know what this means?"
"We don't care. What were you doing here in the Palace? You don't have an invitation."
"I will tell you nothing! Nothing!" France exclaimed. "You can torture me. I have withstood torture at the hands of terrible people and revealed nothing before. Well maybe I told them about someone's underwear… War does terrible things to people."
"Mr erm…?"
"Francis Napoleon de Chevalier Bonnefoy," France said.
The name must have struck a chord with the security because they immediately drew their guns. "Step away from the upholstery," one of them said.
"Ah you know me then?"
"So why are you here, Mr France and where is Mr England?" The chief of security asked finally.
France was now being quickly ushered to a pokey little office.
"He has been arrested for a crime he did not commit!" France said dramatically.
"I thought you weren't going to tell us anything?"
"Yes, but you are so cute," France replied, batting his eyelashes in what he thought was a seductive manner.
The chief of the Queen's Bodyguard, a man who had served in the Armed Forces for years - Afghanistan, Iraq - had trained elite fighting forces, had never been called 'cute' and was actually touched. He turned to his colleague, "Find out which police station Arthur Kirkland is being held," he said.
"Ah, Albert, you are a wonderful person, did anyone ever tell you that?" France said, pronouncing Albert as 'Al-bare'.
"Actually, no. And my name's not Albert."
"Ah ze Prince Albert. He was a saucy character, non? All those children?"
"Mr Bonnefoy…"
"Monsieur. It is Monsieur Bonnefoy. I am not Anglais. As you can tell by looking at my amazing dress sense, my flair for flirtation and my refined eyebrows."
Unfortunately, at that moment, a policeman came in.
"Monsieur Bonnefoy you are under arrest for assault." The Policeman said.
"A salt?"
"Yes, assault."
"Zis makes no sense."
"You do not have to say anything…"
"I don't?"
"But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court." The policeman continued manfully.
"So I can say something? In court? You mean such as in ze Queen's royal court?"
"Anything you do say may be given in evidence."
"Zen I will say zat Albert here is a creature of such allure that I have not seen in many a year."
"You want to say that in evidence?"
"And zat it was not my fault zat ze Queen almost killed zat singer. He was rubbish anyway. I would not buy any of his albums."
France was still muttering about bad singers when he was led away. "Au revoir Albert!" He called, blowing the head of security a kiss. "Wait for me!"
"Seymour Butts," Prussia said, handing the police desk sergeant a crumpled library card.
"I'm Carl Duck," Denmark said. He loved that name, it was one of his more believable aliases. He used to use 'Gorm Bloodsword' but gave up when people giggled.
"And I am Clark Kent," America said.
"Too obvious," 'Seymour Butts' whispered.
"What? Oh yeah, okay then. I'm Dean Norfolk."
"Aw I want to be a county as well," Denmark said.
"Go on then," America said.
Denmark screwed up his eyes and stuck his tongue out as he thought.
"Name another English county," America challenged him.
"Look here, you lot. What are you doing here? What do you want?" The police sergeant asked them, tapping his biro against the desk.
"We're here to bail out Arthur Kirkland," America said.
"Middlesex," Prussia suddenly blurted out.
"What?" The desk sergeant said, as he took notes.
"Middlesex, that's a county."
"Oh ja! Valdemar Middlesex," Denmark said.
"You can't be Valdemar Middlesex."
"Why?"
"Because it's obvious it just doesn't go together," Prussia said and shook his head at the police sergeant as if all this was just academic.
"Pete Middlesex then," Denmark said sulkily.
"Shut up." Prussia said. "I can hear the sound of an Austrian being parted from his money," he said, putting a hand to his ear.
Indeed he could. Or something like that.
Back at the Palace...
"Tell me, will you take me to Arthur Kirkland's police station?" France was asking the police as they led him up the corridor and out into the Buckingham Palace forecourt.
"I've never heard of that police station," one of them said.
"I see how it is then," France said sadly. "You leave me no choice." He said as menacingly as he could but it came out mincingly,
The two policemen escorting him (the head of security was sat in a daze in his office, still thinking about being called 'cute') exchanged looks. What was this purple twit going to do anyway?
France leaned over, kissed one of them deeply, the kiss sounding very much like a drain clearing and then pinched the other's cheeks. Both stepped back utterly disgusted and France ran off.
"I do not understand why this credit card has been declined, please try again. I really cannot be here all day. I have my practice to get back to," Austria's querulous voice could be heard all around the police station.
"Hey Speccy!" Prussia called. "Give me some of your money."
"Oh dear Lord," Austria groaned as the 'Awesome Trio' barged into the office.
"What practice?" The policeman dealing with the Austrian asked him, looking him up and down.
Roderich Edelstein had walked in looking as if he was from a fancy dress party. He was wearing clothes that were easily over a hundred years old - a velvet frock coat patched and mended in various areas (he could sew very well), a cravat and carrying a violin case.
"I'm a psychiatrist. I deal with the human mind." He replied loftily. "Not his though. He's not human." He added, nodding his head towards Prussia.
Prussia laughed, "Kesese!" This was making his day, "You need to practise alright, Speccy. You'll never be any good on that violin." He said emphasising the word practise.
"You take that back! Mozart himself said I was superb!"
"We're here for Artie dude," America told Austria.
"Are you indeed?" Austria said snootily. He looked the American up and down. America had made an effort and wore his 'best' suit. He still looked as if he'd got dressed in the dark.
Denmark and Prussia looked as if they'd got dressed in a wind tunnel.
"Someone cut off our electric," Denmark told Austria.
Austria stepped away from Denmark's beery breath.
"Has Arthur asked you if you're the dad yet?" Prussia asked Austria, enjoying the latter's discomfort.
"Dad of who?" Austria asked, suspicious.
"Nah he asked Australia. I remember which is which now," America said. "Australia's the cheery one who likes beer. Austria's the grumpy one who gets lost in his own dungeons."
"I don't have dungeons," Austria said. Although he didn't deny being grumpy.
"Yes he does," Prussia told the desk sergeant, who was watching all this with a mixture of amusement and boredom. "He keeps his underwear in there."
"That's a lie!" Austria exclaimed.
"His mum used to fight men for money," Prussia continued.
Austria thought about launching himself at Prussia, although this would surely ruin his suit. He instead turned back to the police officer. "I insist on you trying my credit card again."
"I tell you it's been declined," the policeman said. "If you can't post bail then just say."
"I had over 5000 euros on that credit card," Austria said.
"Hungary took it with her to Sydney," America said. Ever the tell-tale.
"Who is Sydney?" Austria asked, appalled.
Prussia hit America, "Shut up, man. Us blokes have to stick together." Prussia of course thought of Hungary as a bloke.
"Blokes? That's an English term!"
"I know. I like it." Prussia admitted. "Anyway, we're here to bail out Arthur Kirkland," he told the policeman.
"What about Ludwig?" Austria pointed out.
"Nah, he's a boring fart." America said.
"Him as well."
"There's also the small matter of him," here the policeman nodded over to the small Italian asleep in the corner.
"He's not coming to live with me. Not again. My ornaments won't survive it," Austria said.
England laid on his cell bunk, his arms folded behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling. All things being equal he was rather happy. He'd had a not too shabby mug of tea and was listening to Germany in the next cell yelling in frustration. All in all not a bad day.
Over at England's next door neighbour's house, Rosemarie and George IV were not having a good day at all. They had been invaded by Russia.
"Hamish is amazing, da?" Russia told them, waving a bottle of cheap vodka around.
"Da," Charlemagne answered from his bouncy chair, holding Mr Panda's panda toy and one of the kittens - probably Franklin.
"Would you like a cup of tea, dear?" Rosemarie asked.
"Nyet," Russia said, his eyes wide and fixed on the television screen. "The best bit is when the duck does the weather forecast."
"This is outrageous," King George IV hissed at his wife Rosemarie in the kitchen where she made tea anyway.
"I know but what can we do? The poor man is obviously desperate."
"He's a psychopath." The dead king replied. "I told you we should have bought that bungalow in Grimsby," he added.
"Yes, but it's so quiet around here."
The king looked at her in disbelief. "Are you deaf, woman? Arthur and those nutter nations have never stopped screaming, shouting and making disagreeable smells since I moved in."
"You're right I suppose and he never puts his bins out on time."
"Come in here and see this! They have a dog reading the news!" Russia called.
Indeed, there was. 'Wee Bertie', Scotland's killer West Highlands Terrier was sat at the news desk barking with papers in front of him. Unseen to the public, Scotland was passed out under the desk with Yorkshire trying to revive him.
"He says a gang calling themselves the Awesome Trio are wanted for breaking into the Tower of London," Russia translated.
"Ba," Charlemagne agreed.
"And that a Frenchman has kidnapped Prince Harry."
Author's Notes:
There is indeed a BBC Scotland that has just begun broadcasting and I thought of Hamish as soon as I saw it.