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Chapter 88 - The Bear, the Idiot and the Wardrobe
Later that same day… Much much later…
When England came round he was in the bath. He had no idea at all why the Nations felt the need to put him in the bath every time he passed out/fainted. He felt horrible. His head pounded as if there was a German Oompah Band living in it.
He received a ton of pings from his phone showing America holding a Big Mac and a further ransom note from the hardened kidnapper. He passed out again.
"Stupido Americano!" Romano yelled. "You are costing me too much money. Money I do not have!" He shoved America out of the van and into the German Embassy.
"Hey this isn't Cafe Vargas!" America said.
"Do you have anything to say about the Asylum Seeker in the Embassy?" Someone yelled at him.
"Is it a whistleblower?" Asked another.
"Hell yeah brother! I can blow whistles!" America yelled. "But I ain't going to no asylum! I'm not mad."
Romano shoved him inside.
Germany stopped them in their tracks. "What are you doing here? This is neither of your Embassies."
"You're right there," America said and took a big bite out of his Big Mac and carried on talking, spraying food all over Germany's suit, "This ain't as big as the US Embassy."
"What are you doing here?" Germany asked Romano.
"He's calling himself Santiago now," America said and shuffled off to find the kitchen.
"I have kidnapped him and I need a few hours just until I get my money," Romano replied.
"Kidnapped? From who?"
"Whom," Romano corrected. "England." He said and hurried after America.
"Hey! Pasta! I love pasta!" America yelled as he found the kitchen.
Germany ran after Romano. "You'll never get any money out of England. Good luck though."
Romano/Santiago looked him up and down. "He won't answer my messages."
"He doesn't know how. He's technologically inferior. He's a moron."
Romano thought about this. "I really need him to take America back now because he's already cost me all my pizzas and £6.60 on a Big Mac and fries." He said and turned to see America shoving lasagne into his mouth.
It was going to be a long night. He tapped out another text to England, who was now fast asleep covered in a blanket with a party going on around him.
Meanwhile at 'Hotel Colditz'
Prussia was doing his own texting:
To America: "WOT IS YORKSHIRE'S MOB NO.?"
Reply from America: "WOT?"
"WOT IS YORKSHIRE'S MOB NO?"
"MOB NO?"
"JA."
"WOT IS JA?"
"YES."
"YES WOT?"
"WOT IS YORKSHIRE'S MOBILE NUMBER?" Prussia furiously texted properly this time.
"DUNNO. Y?"
"COS."
"COS WOT?"
"NEVERMIND" Prussia thought furiously and then texted England.
"WOT IS YORKSHIRE'S MOB NO?"
No answer, or no answer quick enough for Prussia who was now high on E numbers whose own sense of time was running far faster than the rest of the world. He turned to Denmark, who was still watching the German Embassy through binoculars and said, "WhodoyouthinkwouldknowYorkshire'smobilenumber?" In one big word.
"What?" Denmark asked, not looking round.
But it was too late an answer for Prussia, who bounced off the bed and marched around the room thinking furiously. To Denmark he looked like a blur.
"WOT'S YORKSHIRE'S NUMBER?" He texted to France.
The answer came back almost straight away. "Bob is gorgeous, non? You want him, non?"
Prussia, bouncing off the walls, texted, "NO, JUST NO." He meant 'just the number' but by now he didn't have the patience to actually text this.
Instead France answered him with a horrifying FaceTime message. (France loved FaceTime.)
Prussia stared in horror at the sight of France and Scotland tangoing, France with a rose between his teeth. Behind them, in a bath was the unconscious form of England wrapped in a blanket with a tam o' shanter on his head.
Prussia quickly hung up. There was no point talking to France. Taking a deep breath he texted Russia. "WOT IS YORKSHIRE'S MOB NO.?"
Within a wardrobe on its way to No. 69 Trafalgar Gardens a tinny ringtone of The Nutcracker Suite could be heard. There was a growl as if from a very large but sleepy bear.
Prussia shrugged and then turned to Denmark, "Do you still send Yorkshire pictures of Viking longboats?" He asked. Due to the E numbers, his voice sounded quite high and squeaky and to normal humans would not have registered on any known frequency. Denmark was not a normal human of course.
"Ja! But he doesn't like them and sends me pictures of dead mummified Vikings from the Jorvik Museum," Den said. To Prussia, he sounded as if he were speaking very slow, like a record played at the wrong speed.
"Send me his number," Prussia said.
"Ja," Denmark replied absent-mindedly.
"Now!"
"What for?"
"I have a dastardly plan."
It was a long night…
After four hours from the initial order, Italy finally took Mr Kumajiro (or Mr Incognito) his latte, except it wasn't a latte it was a capuccino and it was cold. The lasagne had been eaten by Romano's hostage America, who had found the nearest bedroom and taken it over. It happened to be the German Ambassador's bedroom and he looked at the snoring American with baleful eyes.
Romano sat texting England furiously. "GIVE ME MONEY OR YOU WILL NEVER SAY US AGAIN." He texted, missing off the 'A' in 'USA' and puzzling England when he woke up. Romano was sat outside the room, 'guarding' America to 'stop him escaping'.
Germany almost tripped over the Italian and as the German was so angry anyway began shouting at him which caused the other Italy to burst into tears and plead for Romano to apologise. This three way argument lasted for over an hour before Germany gave up, apologised to the Ambassador who was also angry that he couldn't seem to get the prone American out of his bed and wondered how he was going to explain to his wife that there was a strange man in their bed. In the meantime, Mr Kumajiro was on the telephone talking to one of his allies, not his most powerful ally - another species of bear - but one who wore a pretty dress and ribbons in her hair.
Revenge was still on his mind. An exploded toilet and ruined bathroom was not enough.
Another person thinking of revenge was a man sat in his stone cottage at the end of a muddy lane in a small village named 'Pocklington Mumbles'. He was drinking very strong tea out of a Leeds United FC mug and staring at his phone. He was not happy. He may wear a cloth cap, wore wellington boots everywhere and have ferrets as pets, but he was more intelligent than the average Nation/neo-Nation/Region. He proved this when he drank down his tea, stood up and was about to scare the bejesus out of the sender of the picture message, who had thought they were clever.
"Kesesese! I'm so clever! We'll soon be rolling in the dough!" Prussia told Denmark at a rate of ten to the dozen, bouncing around the room and accidentally using American idioms.
Denmark wasn't listening, "No sign of the bear now," he said sadly. "That trench coat doesn't fool me."
But Prussia was shouting at Brian the Duck, "You wanna go home, Brian? Well your Papa is going to have to pay! Oh ja! Kesese!"
The next morning…
Romano's text messages were getting more and more desperate. "PLZ PAY THE RANSOM, I WILL ACCEPT £100." (The ransom had decreased hour on hour as his texts went unheeded.)
"Right I'm absolutely starvin' Marvin!" America yelled.
"Who is Marvin?" Italy asked him. He looked bedraggled and run ragged. Which he was. He'd had to cook up a full breakfast for the American - hash browns, bacon, four eggs and beans etc and now the American had wanted 'second breakfast'. Also the bear upstairs had shouted at him to bring him 'good hot coffee' and Italy had burst into tears when he realised he'd forgotten all about him.
"It's a coloquilismism," America replied answering the question about 'starvin' Marvin'.
Romano hit him, "Arthur does not want you back!" He shouted.
"Back where? To Artie's house? I have to go to work. But first I need more food."
"He is costing us a fortune, fratello," Italy said sadly.
"I know but my kidnapping is not working!"
"Wait? You've kidnapped someone? Who?" America asked. He looked around wide-eyed. "Hey! Germania," he yelled when he saw Germany coming into the room, rubbing his tired eyes, tying his tie all ready for another day of battling the press. "You've been kidnapped!"
"Nein," Germany said wearily. "And you can go back to England today. I will not share a bed with Peter* any more!" He shouted. (*Actual name of the German Ambassador to the UK) "Heaven knows what his wife must think."
"I told you to join me," Italy said.
"Listen fratello, you are not gay!" Romano told him.
"You say that but are you sure?" Italy asked.
"I'm not entirely sure to be honest," America said and then tugged on Romano's sleeve. "Never mind all this European nonsense, I'm hungry. Artie dude always feeds me steak and fries in a morning." (This was untrue and England had, in recent weeks, attempted to put America on a diet of cornflakes.)
Romano texted England again. His desperation was really beginning to show now: "SEND ME TEN POUNDS OR YOU WILL NOT SEE USA AGAIN."
He then amended this when America, got hold of his arm and yelled, "Come on Southern Italy dude, I need Maccy D's!"
England's phone had been vibrating in his pocket for a while now with more and more desperate texts from the kidnapper. The latest was: "I WILL GIVE YOU TEN POUNDS IF YOU WILL TAKE US BACK."
England finally woke to find a bag of frozen peas on his head and missing one shoe. Thankfully he was fully clothed. And in the bath.
He squinted at his phone and stared in horror at the text messages. He had no idea who 'US' was but he did not want them back.
It was quiet in the house without the American (and also without Denmark and Prussia). There was nobody to argue with France and nobody hogging the television.
"What would you do if your friends were kidnapped and the kidnapper who you know to be absolute moron, was asking for money?" England asked groggily from the bath.
"Honestly? I'd tell him to go whistle. Now get out of that bath while I fix your plumbing," Alf the plumber told him and waved a wrench at him.
There was a ping on his phone. "He says if I don't send money then awful things will happen," England groaned, climbing out of the bath. His head hurt so much.
He staggered downstairs in his slippers and found Scotland asleep curled up in the cats' bed. France was cheerily making omelettes in the kitchen with Turkmenistan bustling around him.
Pierre and the two CIA officers were drinking black coffee.
England hoped no more Frenchmen would turn up today. He also hoped they had not used the last teabag.
"Why is my duck drunk?"
Prussia fell out of bed.
The face above him from which those words had issued was not a happy face. It was not a face that anyone would willingly wish to wake up to.
"Woah there! You can't go accusing people of getting ducks drunk!" Denmark said. For some reason, he was in bed with Prussia. They both had their clothes on and Denmark was a viking so that was okay then.
"How did you find us?" Prussia said, jumping out of bed.
Yorkshire held up the picture message he had received - of Brian the Duck in the hotel bath and the hotel monogrammed towels behind him and the words 'GIVE US FIFTY POUNDS OR YOU WON'T SEE YOUR DUCK AGAIN' emblazoned on hotel stationery.
"Ah."
"What have you done, Pru?" Denmark asked. He didn't like the way Yorkshire was waving his copy of 'Ducks Unlimited' at him. He seemed very aggressive. Denmark remembered that Yorkshire was no longer the little kid he'd invaded many centuries ago and taken over most of his region. The kid had been tough even then and had made many of Denmark's viking warriors cry.
"I just wanted to make some money." Prussia answered.
Brian the duck came out of the bathroom, shaking his wings and squawking in a manner that Denmark thought was alarming.
"I'm not giving you money to get my duck back. You can forget it. You've already cost me a first prize in the Regional Finals," Yorkshire said.
"How did you get in?" Prussia asked, in between running around the hotel room being chased by an angry (and drunken) duck.
"I know the doorman. He's an old mate of mine. Come on Brian," Yorkshire said and the duck followed him out the door.
Awaiting him was the hotel manager.
"Yes, kick him out," Prussia told the manager. "Honestly, I thought this was a classy establishment?"
"This is a classy establishment and you two can leave!" The manager told them.
"Aww man! This was the perfect place to watch Germany do his mad press conferences and keep an eye on that bear!" Denmark protested.
"Distract him while I get the freebie toiletries!" Prussia whispered to Denmark as he hurried into the bathroom.
Denmark wasn't listening, "Honestly, man," he said to the manager. "There's a bear in that embassy and he's a supervillain who's going to take over the world!"
"Oh mein Gott! That duck has used up all the lavender and jojoba bubble bath!" Prussia wailed from the bathroom.
At England's house…
"The latest text I've got now says that he will give me money if I take Alfred back!" England told anyone who would listen.
"Ah mon ami, no-one cares about you and your obsession avec Amerique. He is so boring anyway. Who is zis kidnapper who tells you such things?" France said languidly while stirring something smelly and garlicky on the stove.
"Romano, although he calls himself Santiago."
"Terrible! Such incompetence, non?" France asked, aiming this question at Pierre, who shrugged.
"I do not know, Monsieur Le France, we were never so incompetent!"
Before England could interrupt his mug of tea by commenting on France and Pierre's forays into the realms of kidnapping, there was a knock at the door.
Turkmenistan, now self-styled as England's butler, answered it.
It was Prussia and Denmark, looking bedraggled and pushing a housekeeping trolley.
"I thought they were supposed to be in a bloody hotel!" England exclaimed. "That was the deal, Pierre, in exchange for you - another bloody Frenchman living here - those two were supposed to be in a hotel."
"We kinda got kicked out," Den said shoving the trolley inside.
"By a duck." Prussia added.
"Because of a duck. I told you that duck was bad news!" Denmark told him. "Anyway," he added to England. "Look at all the free stuff!"
"Ooooh monogrammed towels! And cleaning cloths! And miniature soaps!" Turkmenistan looked as if he were in heaven.
"Why's he still here?" Prussia said, nodding at Turkmenistan.
"Who is he again?" Denmark added, bounding into the kitchen and rifling through the fridge.
"America has been kidnapped by Romano," England told them, shutting the fridge door on Denmark's hand.
"Kesese! Kidnapping should only be done by the pros, like me." Prussia told them all as if he were standing on a podium and addressing the masses.
England wasn't interested in this or any story involving Prussia and Denmark kidnapping an unfortunate Nation or Region and holding them hostage.
"Anyone seen Russia?" He asked.
"Papa!" Came a voice from the sitting room.
They all rushed in to find Charlemagne in his bouncer chair pointing excitedly at Germany giving yet another shouty press conference with a shadowy figure silhouetted in a window behind him. (Actually, the child wasn't pointing at Germany but at the shadowy figure.)
"I bloody knew it!" England yelled. He flung the bag of now defrosted peas from his head and picked up the phone. "I want to speak to Ludwig Beilschmidt, this is Arthur Kirkland and it's urgent!" He said into the receiver.
"I'll put you through to his private quarters," said a man.
England hummed. He had a list of things to do:
Confront Germany about the Child (in his head this was in capital letters)
Ensure that on no account take America back whether he was 'AGA' or not
Find out who stole his Lady Diana Spencer tea towel.
"It's your baby!" He yelled down the phone.
Italy, still trying to make a lasagne for Mr K and forgetting totally that there was a latte going cold next to him, panicked. "Baby? I don't have any bambinos. Well maybe… there was a pretty girl in Milan a long time ago. But I only have time to cook and…aaaargh!" He suddenly screamed as he saw the 'LUDDY SMELLS' spelt out in fridge magnets on the fridge and his bolognese sauce began to boil over. He slammed the phone down and ran between the fridge and the stove.
Unaware of the chaos he had caused, England sat and stared at Charlemagne. The child did sometimes exhibit Germanic tendencies - he was loud, didn't laugh at England's jokes and didn't like Elgar. (The child had screamed his head off when England had put his 33" vinyl of Pomp and Circumstance on the gramophone.). However, the child also liked tea and seemed fascinated by England's world class collection of tea cosies.
While England ruminated on this, the doorbell rang and it was Turkmenistan again who answered. "Hallo?" He asked, first in Turkmen and then in English.
"Delivery for…" here the delivery man peered at the handwritten note pinned to the front of the huge cardboard box by a knife. "Mr Berkland?"
"He is a berk, yes," France said, shoving Turkmenistan out of the way. "Is it for me?"
"Sign here," the delivery man said. He didn't care what this French 'poof' was on about.
"Ah I will!" France signed his full name with a flourish and then an x underneath.
He began opening the box. "I bet it is for me, non?"
"It says Arthur Berkland." Turkmenistan said.
"Ah oui but I bet he has ordered somezing outrageously gorgeous pour moi. I love him!"
Pru and Den exchanged glances.
"I bet it's a bar of soap," Den said as France began tearing at the 6 foot cardboard box.
"Arthur, my mad brother, yer need to come here and sort this out!" Scotland yelled from the kitchen. He had just emerged from the cats bed with Hamilton under one arm.
"Don't shout," England croaked.
"Yer know, if you cannae take the drink then you shouldna drink at all," Scotland said wisely and then belched loudly. England understood now why he (Scotland) was Prussia and Denmark's hero.
"What's going on?" He said, now accepting a glass of alka-seltzer from Turkmenistan.
"It's a wardrobe!" Denmark yelled. "We didn't steal it!" He added quickly although he wished he had.
"Oh mon ami, you must look after yourself. If you do not and you die then where will we all live?" France said to England.
"Yes that's a point you'll all have to go and live with…."
"Germany." Denmark said.
"Austria." Prussia said with an evil look in his eyes. Although he'd have preferred the George IV's next door.
"Canada!" France proffered.
"Papa!" Charlemagne said.
"Yes indeed," England frowned. Who did Charlemagne call Papa? He looked around.
"Hmmm. I didn't order a wardrobe," England said. He fished inside his freezer for another bag of frozen peas - there were none and so he made do with frozen carrots and put them to his forehead.
Prussia and Denmark exchanged worried glances.
"Open it then." Denmark asked.
England did, peered inside and then slammed it shut with a stifled scream.
"What's up dude?"
"It's…it's…" England had to sit down, the shock was so bad.
"Is it one of your suits?" France asked. "You have gone very pale, mon ami as if you have seen death itself!"
"Is it one of your dead kings?" Prussia asked.
"Is it one of my dead kings?" Denmark asked.
"Why would it be one of your dead kings?" Prussia asked Denmark.
"Dunno, it could be." Denmark said defensively. "If it was Sven the Bad it could have made him faint. Probably not so much if it was Olaf the Quiet."
"He looks dead," England said in a desperate voice from the ground. He groaned.
"Who does? I mean you look pretty dead at the moment," Prussia said, bending down to talk to the Englishman.
England wiped a hand over his face and the bag of carrots fell of his head. "I'm so dead."
"You should not drink whisky!" Francis exclaimed. "You should stick to tea or if you are feeling fruity, some herbal tea, mon cher."
"It's not that. It's…"
"What?" Den asked.
Prussia opened the wardrobe door to reveal Russia stood upright, his hands crossed over his chest. He looked like an ancient dead pharaoh.
"Is he dead?" England asked. He feared he really was. Suppose he was? Then if Russia was dead then he would be soon enough - Belarus or Putin would see to that, probably both and he feared Belarus way more.
"Nah. It takes more than that to kill Russia. Believe me I know." Prussia said. "I reckon a nuclear war wouldn't finish him off. Can we draw on him?" He looked around for a sharpie pen.
When Denmark plucked up the courage to poke the Russian in the chest, Russia fell forward flat onto the ground and behind him the wardrobe seemed to open into nothingness.
"Narnia!" England exclaimed. They all peered in and Denmark, still hunting for beer, stepped inside and disappeared into blackness.
Prussia ran around the back of the thing, expecting there to be no back, saw that his friend didn't reappear and screamed - rather girlishly England thought.
Before England could stop them, 'Le' France, Pierre, Scotland and then Prussia had followed. England, picking up Charlemagne, ran in after them. After all, they weren't going to leave him holding the baby alone…