Time to wear the crown for the new King of Walden. But what if the crown is too small? A heady problem! Read about it in the latest chapter of King Of The Planet! Chapter Thirteen There was a lot to do and, judging from the poor health of the colonists at Flint’s Crossing, not much time left in which to do it. The capital city was protected from the Hydroxygen pollution, but from what Jonez told me on the shuttle flying back, Flint’s Crossing was typical of the other mining cities on Walden. And Jonez knew, because she treated them under secure conditions in the royal infirmary. Matters were made worse by the government-owned “private” business which ran everything and denied pollution was a problem. Nothing was allowed to stop Hydroxygen production, which was a key element somehow in Murdoch taking over this corner of its universe. I felt personally responsible for Tyrian’s situation. As for work, I asked him what he wanted, but all he said was, he’d think about it. He still seemed unhappy, but at least was higher on the happiness scale than when I met him after he’d been transferred to Flint’s Pond. “You know, sire,” he said, “I spoke with them on the phone all the time, sometimes in video conferences. But it was something else to see them. They’re all sick, and I’ve been part of helping make that happen. Makes me wonder what I’ve been doing. I have to think about this.” When we landed, I sent him with a Guard to ensure he still had an apartment and that his belongings were put back into it. Walden suffered from urgent health, political and environmental cancers. My role was to solve them (and solve them better than King Silkwood of Gardens, who ended up in jail because of his concerns.) So you better believe I was cranked up and ready to go as I stepped off the shuttle. And when I saw several Palace staff waiting, led by Petyr, I thought: excellent, I need help with these urgent problems! Let’s start now! “Your Highness, I have been waiting” Petyr said, stepping forward. “It is time for your crown fitting.” I had put off having the royal crown sized to my head for a couple of days. Last time I tried it, obviously it was too small. However, Petyr was insistent. Best to just get it over with, and then get on with those priorities! Petyr led me into the Palace, the small retinue trailing respectfully behind. “How are you today, Petyr?” I asked as we walked to wherever he was taking me. “Thank you, sire, I am doing well. Indeed, I have had something of a promotion I my responsibilities. Since the disappearance of Keyser Sozeck I have assumed his duties as Minister of Protocol.” “Yes, I was told. Say, Petyr, we seem to be going to the Royal Infirmary.” He nodded. “Yes, to one of the surgeries.” “Why is the fitting room for the crown in a surgery? Shouldn’t it be in a jeweler’s shop?” Even as I asked the question, I got that tingling on the back of my neck characters in bad horror movies get just before they do something stupid. “You will see.” He led me through the infirmary to an examination room stuffed with fancy equipment. The retinue stayed on the outside, and a moment later a smiling doctor walked in. A small man with thick glasses, he wore a surgical gown. He walked up to me and bowed. “Sire. Welcome and thank you for attending this appointment. Allow me to introduce myself. I am your chief surgeon, Dr. Benway.” He pointed to a padded chair. I remained standing. Something about him made me uncomfortable instantly. “He is a very talented surgeon,” Petyr told me in a reassuring voice. Dr. Benway nodded with a reassuring smile. “I am, sire.” I definitely remained standing. I looked at them and they continued to smile expectantly. “There is something you are not telling me. Let’s start with why I need a surgeon to be fitted for the crown.” “A logical question, sire,” Petyr said. “I had hoped to put this off, but Dr. Benway insisted on an appointment today. I’ll let him explain.” He nodded to Dr. Benway. “Often it is a simple procedure,” Dr. Benway said. “I have done the last nine Kings. They also all asked, why a surgeon?” Petyr was letting Dr. Benway take the lead, and it was Dr. Benway who had asked for this sizing. I felt there were several different conversations occurring in this room at the same time. “And what did you tell those Kings?” I asked Benway. He pointed to a table near the chair. On the table was the royal crown of Walden. As crowns go, it was quite nifty, ornate and glittery, built around a gold band inlaid with red and green jewels. Along the edges of the band were white platinum rings, and from the band rose beautifully worked copper peaks encrusted with more jewels. The work was intricate, and the crown was old and clearly a treasure. “We have had this crown for well over two hundred years,” Dr. Benway told me in his little prepared speech, “ever since the first imported Kings were humanoid and could wear crowns. The Palace jewelers worked on this crown for four years. Your Highness, four is considered a magic number in our culture, sire, because of Murdoch and its three moons.” “It is beautiful,” I agreed. I picked it up. It was heavy. I put it gingerly on my head. As before, it did not fit. I was too big and/or the crown was too small, take your pick. Instead of sitting royally on my head, it perched awkwardly and looked stupid. Something obviously had to be done, I could not disagree. “Yes, the crown does not fit,” I said. “But why you? Why a surgeon? Where is the Palace jeweler?” Dr. Benway never stopped smiling, though he was straining a bit, being tested. “Sire, we have had many Kings but we have only this one crown. Attempts to alter the size have been ineffectual. Once it was altered, but no longer. It cannot be made larger or smaller. That led to a popular saying.” And Dr. Benway pointed to a beautifully written sign I had not noticed before, above the examining room door. The calligraphy was expert. Rather than change the crown to fit the King, change the King to fit the crown. I looked back from the sign to Dr. Benway, who told me, “You’ll barely feel a pinch and won’t miss a thing. Rest assured we use the most modern techniques.” The more I heard, the less I liked. Petyr was just watching. “Usually hats are changed to fit the head, doctor, not the other way around.” “Ah, sire, but this is not a hat,” Dr. Benway replied. “It is the royal crown.” After a pause, he added, “I can see you are concerned.” “You nailed it.” I started to look for the exit, but Dr. Benway blocked it. “You need to understand our process. Then I assure you, you will feel far more relaxed. We have jumped the scalpel, as they say. Allow me to explain. First, I carefully measure your skull. This includes your current hair style. At times we can simply trim your hair to reduce your head size. “At other times, surgery is required. For example, if a King’s head is too small, I place small fat deposits around the head, like a little shelf or rim. The crown rests on those. You can hardly see them.” “But my head is too large.” “Yes, that is my understanding. We will take some measurements but, yes. It appears too large. Most likely, sire, an operation will be required.” He was still smiling, the little worm. “Dr. Benway, I would rather keep my head intact.” “All Kings say the same,” he replied, “before they understand their royal responsibilities.” “Which are?” I noticed Petyr was letting Dr. Benway do most of the talking. “To be a figurehead.” “But with less of a head.” “Haha, that is very amusing.” Dr. Benway’s smile was condescending. Here was yet another Waldenite who wanted to pat me on the head. I had entered this Dimension unwilling and struggled to be true to myself. “I am very careful and keep all risks to a complete minimum. Usually the operation only means losing some fatty tissue and bone.” “And if my head is still too big?” “Usually nothing cognitive is removed. Sire, by now you must appreciate how much of a King’s life requires patience, understanding and sacrifice. Your role is to honour our ways so that in return we may honour you. The royal crown is symbolic. You must wear it.” “I am not happy.” “Kings are not always happy. Perhaps we should have started with something less sensitive,” Dr. Benway said. He looked at Petyr, who shrugged and said nothing. “There are other procedures.” Petyr was watching my reactions and I could swear he was trying not to laugh, while Dr. Benway was increasingly upset at my resistance. “Other procedures?” “Well, your fingers must fit the royal rings. Often several fingers must be shaved. At the same time, your fingers should be longer, for shaking hands.” “And if my royal underwear is too tight? Do you shave me for that?” Dr. Benway laughed but this time with even less humour than before. “Haha, sire, you are amusing.” He was now officially annoyed. Petyr, however, smiled. “Sire, you have already learned that much of a King’s life is based on royal duties. You have also recently seen what happens should you ignore those duties.” How subtle. When he did say something, it was to refer to his predecessor’s attempt to assassinate me. “The citizens expect you to wear your crown during royal events,” Dr. Benway added. “They expect their new King to change as required, for Walden’s sake. That is what you should be considering here. There is something larger at stake than your own head.” I obviously was unconvinced. Dr. Benway added, “Perhaps I should rephrase. Sire, it began not only because of tradition. We have many new Kings but only one crown. At first, we resized the crown. But as it aged, the crown became brittle and alterations were no longer possible. The crown is too fragile to be altered in any significant way.” There was no point in arguing. “Okay, first measure me and we’ll see what we’re talking about.” Half an hour and a lot of measuring later, Dr. Benway shook his head. “I am afraid you have the largest head of any King yet. A simple haircut will not help.” “How about I get my head shaved?” I half-joked. He shook his head, quite serious. “That would not be enough. There will have to be some serious reductions, but I am quite confident we can avoid any unacceptable impact on your cognitive or sensory functions.” I looked at both of them. “And how do I know I will be the same after my head has been sized? If you cut out part of my brain?” Something occurred to me and I looked at Petyr. “Or is there any other reason to size the new King’s head?” Petyr nodded. “Historically there have been incidents where a crown sizing occurred to, shall we say, make an unruly King more…‘ruly.’” That fit right in with what I understood of the Walden way of doing things. “Sounds to me like you’re talking a frontal lobotomy.” Dr. Benway said, “That part of the brain is over-rated. And a lobotomy would not actually reduce your head size.” “Am I one of those unruly Kings?” Dr. Benway laughed nervously. Petyr said nothing although he looked at me quite steadily. I’d had more than enough. “Gentlemen, there will be no cutting.” “First,” Dr. Benway said, “I am not a gentleman, I am a doctor. Second, while I appreciate your concerns, the crown will not fit otherwise. There must be an operation and the sooner the better.” “No.” “Sire, there are few options,” Petyr said. “Other Kings have tried not wearing the crown, but the people objected.” I felt I was having two conversations, one with Benway, the other with Petyr. “Oh? Do people in the Palace really care what people outside the Palace think?” I asked Petyr. “That hasn’t been my impression.” “Royalty is built on tradition,” Dr. Benway said firmly, tired of arguing. “We really need to get on with this. I hope we won’t have to call the Guards.” “No, you won’t,” I told him. “As of now, I am retiring the royal crown. Create a new one, using the measurements you just took. While you’re at it, let’s have some new rings. And no, you’re not making my fingers longer so I can shake hands better.” Dr. Benway frowned. “Sire, I am afraid you cannot do that.” “Sure you can. I’m the King.” “Kings are slaves to tradition. You cannot simply throw traditions out the window. Eliminate one thing people rely upon and soon they will not know what will be next. It is a slippery slope.” Dr. Benway was getting angry. Petyr looked at me with apparent sincerity, though it was always hard to tell with him. “Be careful handling it, sire. It is an ancient crown, and quite fragile.” I still held it. Petyr looked at it and me. I pressed on it as hard as I could and the gold band buckled and snapped with a loud pop. The crown broke apart in my hands, several jewels falling onto the floor. Dr. Benway’s mouth dropped. “Oh dear, the crown is broken,” I said. “Too bad. Impossible to wear now. Better get it fixed. And now you can make sure it will fit without surgery.” Petyr smiled. “As you wish, your Highness.” A Walden solution to a Walden problem.
Posted on: Sat, 04 Oct 2014 02:16:15 +0000
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