The Eggshell War Chapter 4.

Chapter Four.

A Visitor.

On the ninth day there was a visitor to Dulanstufy. The visit had been arranged for a long time, but in the excitement everyone had forgotten. The visitor was The Great Panjandrum of Sortitowt.

He arrived seated on a huge elephant. He wore a long flowing, brightly coloured robe and a white turban.

It was some time before a guard of honour could be collected and the proper greeting given to such an important ruler. Poor Mrs Overboylanbern had to stop making rations for the soldiers and prepare a banquet. King Shilee and Queen Rawty greeted the Panjandrum in the throne room. Despite all the cleaning and redecorating, it still smelt vaguely of sour cream and cats. If the G.P. noticed, he was far too polite to mention it.

“Welcome to Dulanstufy,” smiled King Shilee. Queen Rawty curtsied (slightly). Even though the G.P.’s country was far bigger and more powerful than Dulanstufy, she was far too haughty to curtsey low.

“A thousand greetings from my humble kingdom to you and yours.” The G.P. bowed (slightly). “May the light of the sun shine on you and yours forever.”

“May the moon always give you pleasant dreams.” King Shilee knew the correct thing to say. He had looked it up in his book, Greeting Foreign Heads of State.

There was a short silence. The book had not said what to say next, and Shilee could not think of anything to add.

“Would you like some tea?” Queen Rawty was, as you know, rarely stuck for words.

“Most gracious, yes indeed,” beamed the G.P. “It is thirsty work riding on the back of an elephant. But people expect it, and I do so hate to disappoint.”

The tea came and the three sat down to drink it.

“Shall I be mother?” Queen Rawty asked.

“Congratulations,” said the G.P., misunderstanding.

“No, no, no,” replied the Queen, blushing furiously. “I meant, shall I pour the tea?”

“A thousand pardons.” The G.P. rose and bowed.

“Milk?” the Queen asked.

“No thank you,” replied the G.P.

“Sugar?”

“Indeed, no thank you,” replied the G.P.

Queen Rawty poured the G.P. a cup of tea and gave it to him. He took it and frowned. “A thousand pardons, O majestic Queen. I hesitate to impose on your gracious hospitality, but in my country we take our tea with a slice of lemon.”

A footman was sent for slices of lemon while the Queen apologised for the oversight, blaming it on recent unfortunate events. She did not say what they were and chattered on gaily about this and that.

Prince Charmless missed this serving of cream cakes. He had been sent away to join the army.

When tea was over, the Queen ordered Shilee to show the G.P. around the Palace and gardens. Shilee did as he was told, finally arriving at the archery target.

For the first time the G.P. showed more than polite interest. To Shilee’s horror, the G.P. suggested a match. There was no way of getting out of it. The bows were sent for. Eet brought King Shilee’s, and the G.P.’s servant Grovel brought his.

The two servants bowed to their respective masters and went to take up their normal positions. Unfortunately there was not enough room behind the target for both of them. Eet bowed to Grovel. Grovel bowed to Eet. Eet waved Grovel to stand behind the target. Grovel declined and waved Eet to take his place.

This bowing and gesturing might possibly have gone on for a long time if the two monarchs had not ordered their servants to stand still. They bowed to their masters once again, bowed to each other, and stood side by side behind the target. The garden birds took up their customary positions, twittering to themselves. The rulers walked to the shooting mark.

If you had the impression that King Shilee was the worst archer in the world, then you had better change your mind. The G.P. was worse. He was very short‑sighted, but refused to wear glasses. He could not see the target. Normally Grovel shouted “Fire!” when the G.P. was facing the right direction. This was another reason why he was such a bad shot, but he did not know it. Grovel would shout “Fire!” when the G.P. was facing a safe direction, and then stick an arrow in the target. He found it a lot safer that way. He picked up the arrows afterwards, and so both he and the G.P. enjoyed the archery more that way.

As both monarchs were very polite, both decided privately that they would allow the other to win. After much “after you” and “no, after you”, a coin was tossed. The G.P. called it correctly and invited Shilee to go first. Shilee took aim, intending his arrow to just hit the outside of the target.

As usual, he missed — but not by very much. The arrow caught a loose piece of Grovel’s turban and carried on down the garden. If Grovel had not spun round, his head might well have unscrewed itself from his neck. The spinning left the poor man dizzy.

“A good shot,” said the G.P., not having a clue where the arrow had gone, nor noticing the condition of his now bare‑headed servant.

It was the G.P.’s turn. Grovel was so dizzy that he could not see straight and called, “Fire, O great one,” without really knowing where the G.P. was facing. The G.P. let go of the arrow. It sped straight and true, right into the centre of the target. Eet was bending down trying to roll up the turban. The arrow point came through the target and nudged Eet as he bent. He gave a yelp and stood up rubbing the afflicted spot.

The garden birds fled, never to sit on the target again.

“A great shot, sir!” shouted Shilee. “A bull’s eye!”

The contest continued, but since neither ruler managed to hit the target again, the G.P. was declared the winner. This pleased all of them: Shilee because his guest had won, the G.P. because it was the first time he had managed a bull’s eye, and the two servants because they had survived, mostly unhurt.

As the two smiling rulers made their way back to the Palace for dinner, a company of soldiers marched past, saluting the king smartly as they did.

“Most noble‑looking warriors,” murmured the G.P. “You seem to be preparing for war, my friend.”

“We are,” replied Shilee, all the pleasure of the archery contest fading away. He explained it all to the G.P., finishing with, “I don’t want a war, but the Queen insists — and you know what Proudlee’s like.” He sighed.

“Indeed, yes, a most difficult man.” The G.P. shook his head. “It would be a shame if your two illustrious countries came to blows. Perhaps my small amount of wisdom might be able to bring about peace.”

“I wish you would. But first you would have to find a way of putting the Mountain top back where it should be.” King Shilee gestured in the direction of the topless peak.

“Mmmm, yes, I had wondered about that.” The G.P. was very polite.

King Shilee went on. “And if you can get the Queen and Proudlee to agree, I’ll… I’ll eat an elephant.”

“So be it!” The G.P. bowed. “Now, if you would be so kind, I think a bath and a change of clothes before dinner.”

King Shilee bowed back and the two men parted company.