The Toastmaster General (2)

Later that evening, the whole of the Guard gathered together in the mess room for our evening meal.

“Where’s Oakshott?” I asked O’Connor.

“Not feeling well, he’s having a lie down.”

“Nothing serious I hope?” I said.

“No, just a sweaty fever, we all get it from time to time, it comes with living in an enclosed space for too long.  Submarine crews get the same thing.”

“Can’t we go outside.”

“It’d be a risk to security if we were all popping out for a quick fag or a burst of sunlight.  The compound is impregnable, but no fortress can remain impregnable if the doors always open.”

I counted the bodies around the table. There were sixty-three of us. “The Great Leader doesn’t eat with us?” I said.

“Not in the same room, but he eats the same meal.”  He nodded to a door.

The next morning, I was up early, very busy making toast for the Personal Guard, many of whom were in the routine of rising very early.

At 7.59 an order came in on a silver platter.  Miller was the Message-master, so it was clearly a message from the Great Leader himself. The first contact I’d had from him.

‘Two lightly toasted cinnamon bagels (beginning to brown), with room-temperature butter and coated with a thin layer of marmalade.’

I made the bagels as requested and passed them to Miller. He took a knife, cut off a small portion of each and ate them.

“Have to check everything the Great Leader eats,” he explained.

I carried on toasting until 9.00.  My room-mate, Tweedle, came down at precisely 9.01.

“You’re late,” I said.

“It’s my new room-mate,” he said. “He woke me up early. I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“You could have got up.”

“Not me. I never arrive for toast until the very last moment.”

“You missed the very last moment. That was two minutes ago.”

“You’ll fix us some toast though, won’t you. After all, we are room-mates.”

“What is it you do again?”

“I used to run a private army. We served a number of governments, dealt with attempted coups, assassination attempts, etc.”

“I mean what’s your domestic task.”

“I do the flowers.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be without flowers. Toast or bagel?”

“Toast, white, well-done, butter, blueberry jam.”

“How many slices.”

“Three, thick-sliced. I’ll be in the TV room.”

“You’re supposed to eat in the breakfast room.”

“But breakfast is finished. I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble. It’s bad enough your making toast outside the agreed hours.”

“I take it you’re the reason the last Toastmaster left,” I said.

“I’m a complete pain in the arse,” Tweedle agreed. “I can see we’re going to get on.”

Bagels toasted I cleaned up my toasters, and stored away the unused bread. Before heading back to my room, I looked in on Tweedle in the TV room.

“I’m heading back to my room, what about you?”

“I’m about to take a bath.”

“A bath? I thought we only had these before the Great Leader.”

“Yes, he takes three baths a day. I’ll see you on the other side.”

I continued learning about the routine of the house, it’s inhabitants and their roles. I also learned more about the Great Leader, his schedule and requirements, and my own role in this. I also spent an hour with Michael discussing bread. That was going to be my life from this point forth.

When I returned to my room I found Tweedle in bed, groaning.

“Are you all right?” I said.

“No, I’ve come down with a fever. We all get this from time to time,” Tweedle said.  “It comes with living in an enclosed space for too long.  Submarine crews get the same thing.”

I was busy at lunchtime, it’s amazing how many of the military elite have beans on toast for lunch. Obviously I was directly involved in the beans, that’s Hampton’s job.

Eventually I was finished toasting and was able to have lunch myself. I sat next to Oatshott.

“Feeling better?” I said.

“Much better thanks,” he said. “We all get it from time to time. It passes quickly. It comes from being in an enclosed place 24/7.”

“Yes, Tweedle’s got it now. I must admit, I was expecting to be out and about more. The Great Leader doesn’t seem to do much public speaking.”

“He used to,” Oakshott said. “He came to power based on his mass rallies and his habit of talking to the man or woman in the street. It made our job a nightmare.”

“But not any more?”

“The Great Leader hasn’t been well for months’,” he said.  “He rarely leaves the house now. The doctors can’t find anything wrong with him. It’s got the best medical minds in the country mystified.”

During the afternoon I spoke to Mansfield about bread.  Mansfield observed that there had been a long-term shift from white-bread-toast to seeded batches, rye breads and bagels, and the implications for the toastmaker. In Mansfield’s view I should also take responsibility garlic bread, though this would be treading on the toes of Capello, who was responsible for pizza, pasta and other Italian-origin dishes. 

“I have to go,” Mansfield said halfway through the discussion.  “I have to take a bath.  I don’t want to be late, it’s the treat of the week. The towels are so soft.”

“We’ll continue the conversation at dinner,” I said. Only we didn’t. When I turned up at the dinning hall, there was no sign of Mansfield.

I sat next to Oakshott. “Where’s Mansfield?” I asked him. “We were going to discuss garlic bread?”

“Garlic bread?” Oakshott said, sounding surprised. “Surely that’s Capello’s role?”

“That’s what we were going to discuss. Anyway, where did you say he was?”

“Taken ill. The fever I had yesterday.”

“There seems to be a lot of it about,” I said.

“It’s hardly surprising in an enclosed space like this,” Oakshott said. “It’s like living in a submarine.”

The next day it was finally my turn to take a bath. Sure, I took a shower every morning, but the temperature and water pressure were both consistently inconsistent, and the towels were scratchy and hard, so this was never a pleasure. A bath, with hot, soapy water, and luscious, soft towels. I could understand why the Great Leader took three a day.

After completing the morning toast round, I picked up my towels and set off for the bathroom. The bath was big, the water hot, and there was even bubble bath.  Here’s a fact that might surprise you. Even hardened military men, men that have seen decades of bloody, violent action, are prone to soaking in bubble bath when they get the chance. It’s one of the things we were fighting for.

I spent ages in the bath, topping up with the ever-hot stream of water, and just letting the water soak through my tension. When I finally finished I draped myself in one of the towels. They were soft, and huge, completely surrounding my torso. I used another towel to dry my hair, thinking as I did so that it was a waste of pure softness.   When I finished, I hung both towels on the towel-rail to dry.

After my bath I joined Tweedle in the TV room. Usually I’d do my daily gym routine at this time, but not immediately after a bath.

“Nice flowers,” I said, noting that the room was festooned with blooms.

“Thanks. I always start in the TV room, that way I can watch Cash in the Attic while I’m working.”

“Cash in the Attic isn’t on for another hour.”

“I know. I’m waiting for it to start.”

I sat with Tweedle for a while, but started to feel strange. “I think I’m getting a temperature,” I said.

“It sounds like you’ve got the cabin fever,” said Tweedle.

“It does, doesn’t it,” I said. A thought struck me. “How long after my bath would the great leader take his?”

“About an hour, just enough time for the towels to dry” said Tweedle. “Why?”

“Then we’ve still got time,” I said. I rushed to the shower room, picked up an armful of towels, and rushed to the bathroom.

I burst into the room. The Great Leader, who I’d never met, but recognised from TV reports, was sitting in the bath playing with a rubber duck.

“What the …”

“Don’t use the towels,” I said.

“Who the hell are you?” said the Great Leader.”

“I’m Bamber,” I said. The Toastmaster. “I’ve just taken a bath.”

“And what is this? Why should I use these horrible towels.”

“The towels are poisoned,” I said.

“Poisoned? But they’re tested by another user,” the Great Leader said.

“Yes, and they’re always ill shortly after the bath. Oakshott, Tweedle and Mansfield have all been ill after their baths this week and I’m already feeling feverish from mine. It must be a slow-building poison, not enough to do noticeable damage in one day. It’s why you’ve become ill recently.”

The towels were tested by Dorman, who is the resident Science master, as well as being a renowned pilot, and were indeed poisoned.  Kelly was arrested next time she visited the Great Leader’s residence.  She confessed to working for a foreign power.

The story thus ends undramatically, with no great revelation or twist. The role of a personal protection force is to prevent drama wherever possible. In that way it’s very much like that of a toastmaster. I could write a dramatic scene in which I burnt the Great Leader’s toast and had to frantically remove the burned sections in order for the carbon residue to be undetectable, but it is simply much better if I just don’t burn the toast in the first place, even at the expense of a more interesting story.

The great leader is recovering and returning to public duty. It makes my role more interesting, as I get to leave the residence and deal with the real threat. The general public.