Chapter 48. The Reborn Kingdom
Midnight was approaching. The prime minister sat alone in his office, reading a lengthy memorandum. The lines flashed before his eyes, not registering in his consciousness. The prime minister was expecting a call from the president of a distant country. He pondered when that wretched fellow would finally call, while trying to push away unpleasant memories of an extremely long and exhausting week; there was simply no space in his mind for anything else. The more he tried to focus on the printed page lying before him on the table, the more vividly he saw the triumphant face of one of his political opponents. Just today, this opponent had listed all the terrible incidents of the past week on a news program (as if anyone needed reminding) and went on to explain in great detail why the government was to blame for each one.
The prime minister's pulse quickened at the thought of these vile and unjust accusations.
How on earth could the government prevent those bandits from suddenly appearing? It was an outrageous absurdity to suggest that not enough resources were being allocated to maintaining law and order. No one even suspected the existence of such criminal organizations in the country, nor did they know about flying saucers—or whatever they were—or even Jack the Ripper. The best experts were at a loss to explain what all that was and where it came from. And how dare anyone claim that the cause of these brutal murders and mass disappearances of citizens so widely covered in the media was a lack of police? And that the government should have somehow foreseen the sudden hurricane that swept through several counties southwest of London, causing immense damage and human casualties? And was he, the prime minister, to blame for his deputy, Herbert Chorley, behaving so oddly beginning that week that he would now have to spend much more time at home with his family?
But the worst disaster for him seemed to be the announcement of the king, a legend in his own right. Where had this Arthur disappeared to all these years? Was it possible that he was on that elusive Avalon, not even traceable with the most advanced military satellites and the best intelligence agencies in the world?
The prime minister frowned nervously. Just the thought of this newly emerged political figure whom the people now demanded at their mass rallies day and night was enough for him to feel the complete catharsis of his current situation with all his soul. He was losing his grip on power too quickly. Almost as quickly as all these recent calamities had struck. Military personnel were the first to defect to the mysterious Arthur's side, those whom he had knighted by placing his legendary sword Excalibur on their heads. Now, under the wing of this pretender who called himself king, whose existence even historians could not confirm, everyone was flocking, even big and small businesses. Where had it ever been seen before, damn it?
Now all attention was focused on him, this so-called Arthur! And how many interviews had this Arthur given, how many television shows had he appeared on? How many debates had he participated in? He couldn't even string two words together and always resorted to a few short phrases that sent the audience into ecstasy and left opponents lost for words! Oh, he would love to have a conversation with this Arthur if they were to meet! Those would be debates for the ages! Such debates that he would easily inscribe his name in the history of the world as the first—and possibly the only—person to defeat the great King Arthur Pendragon in a debate! And what was with Arthur's habit of wearing a lion mask everywhere? Why wouldn't he show his face? What was he hiding behind that mask? And could this sudden contender for the English throne be connected to all the disasters that had recently befallen England?
"The country was engulfed in despair and mass riots," the opposition representative concluded his speech, barely concealing a wide satisfied smile.
Unfortunately, he spoke the pure truth. Even the Prime Minister himself felt it: people looked unusually subdued. Even the weather was gloomy. A chilly fog in the middle of July... It was wrong. Abnormal.
He turned over the memorandum page, saw how much was left, and gave up hopeless attempts to understand the document's contents. Stretching and putting his hands behind his head, he surveyed the gloomy office with a desolate gaze. It was a beautiful room with a marble fireplace and tall bay windows opposite the fireplace - they were now tightly closed due to the untimely onset of cold weather. Slightly shivering, the Prime Minister got up and approached the window, staring at the rare fog clinging to the glass. And then he heard a faint knock on the door.
"Come in!" the Prime Minister responded, after a short pause. He was occupied, it was late in the evening, they could wait. Furthermore, behind the Prime Minister, someone suddenly coughed, as if he was not alone here. Without being fazed, the Prime Minister continued to observe as the doorknob turned. A figure, half a head shorter than the Prime Minister himself, entered the room. The unexpected guest was dressed in a blue cloak with a fluffy collar and a lion mask that covered the entire head. "He showed up," the Prime Minister thought, eagerly anticipating the impending conversation with the great king of the past.
"How may I assist you?" the Prime Minister greeted his guest as politely as possible.
The guest didn't rush to respond and silently observed him, as if wanting to carefully study him. In the lingering pause, the Prime Minister felt awkward. But at the moment when he was about to break the silence, the guest, with a slow yet majestic stride befitting only kings, approached the table and extended his hand. The guest's cloak shifted, and underneath it, the Prime Minister saw shining armor with a blue coat of arms consisting of three crowns.
"Greetings, Prime Minister," a muffled voice came from under the mask, revealing nothing about its owner.
Taken aback by the unexpected gesture, the Prime Minister shook hands with his guest.
"So...," he attempted to speak, only to be interrupted immediately.
"So, Mr. Prime Minister," the guest began. "The fates of the world are changing, and yesterday will not be the same as tomorrow."
"What is he talking about?" the Prime Minister wondered, hastily considering all possible meanings for the words he had heard.
"Well, of course... everything changes..." he tried to keep the conversation going. "I am, however, amazed how quickly everything changes," the Prime Minister attempted to explain his thought.
-"And were you not amazed when the hero rose from nothing and became a king?"
"Well, of course! Yes," the Prime Minister replied.
"An hour ago, the Queen abdicated in favor of a more worthy ruler."
"Wonderful..." muttered the Prime Minister. "Wait, what?"
Arthur's words were like thunder out of a clear sky to him. What was even happening to this world?
Arthur's expression said everything the Prime Minister could only support with silent awe, but now he was horrified.
"You said..." he began. "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I understood you correctly. The Queen has abdicated?"
"Yes. We met with her and discussed important matters. She agreed to satisfy the will of the people by transferring the reins of power. The coronation will be tomorrow."
How could she have agreed? A whole avalanche of thoughts of various qualities flooded the Prime Minister's mind. They swarmed in his head, giving birth to a thousand new ones every second. Finally, regaining his composure, the Prime Minister sank heavily into his chair.
"Your Majesty?" he uttered in a quiet voice.
His guest remained silent and merely nodded.
"In the future, I will have to relieve you of your position," the guest said in his impassive tone. "But it is not in my interest to do so."
What is happening? Why does even the legendary king himself acknowledge the influence of someone else's will?
"You will have to do something for me," the king continued.
"What do you want from me by delivering such news?" the Prime Minister burst out. He felt his self-control slipping away.
"First, control yourself. And give an answer to the portrait behind you."
It seems this Arthur is actually a decent guy. And even though there is a mysterious new political force standing behind him with its own interests, he does not seem like someone who wants to blindly follow it. The Prime Minister calmed down and reached into the desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of tablets. After taking one, he felt a slight relief in his heart and looked at the guest once again.
"May I ask you, Your Majesty?" he asked thoughtfully.
"What does my subject desire?"
"Why do you hide your face? May I see it?"
The guest standing before him bowed his head in thoughtfulness and immediately replied.
"You are right, there is no point in keeping it a secret," he said, removing his mask and revealing his true face.