This month’s #blogbattle is ‘Merge’ somehow it prompted this nonsense….

‘Can I bring this meeting to order, please?’ Arthur Moment, Lord Chamberlain of Fairyland tapped his monocle on his crystal goblet. It had no effect what so ever.

‘Shut up, you indolent riff raff!!’ Anne D’Otherthing, Metropolitan Master of The Magic Kingdom barely looked up from the fat parchment in front of her. ‘Himself wants the floor.’ She flicked a glance at Arthur which he did his best to acknowledge without sneering.

Why, he pondered, did she have to be so… so present? He had spent years as a duplicitous and deceitful diplomat, devising dastardly and dubiously diabolical…

‘Stop that. Yes, you. The Scribe. I know you’re alliterating again, aren’t you?’

‘Sorry.’

‘Just write it down as it is. No ifs, no buts, no embellishments.’

‘None?’

The crusty old politician checked on his neighbour who was now giving one of her many minions an undeserved bollicking and whispered, ‘Only if I say.’

‘Should I write that down?’

‘Where did you learn to Scribe?’

‘The Magic University.’

He sighed deeply. ‘And they told you to write the truth?’

‘Yes, of…’

‘But,’ a twinkle dazzled the Scribe who lost his nib in the confusion, ‘did they say whose truth you were to write?’

‘I…’

‘Exactly. So while this story is from my point of view, it’s my truth, capiche? Or you’ll be regrouting the gingerbread pointing on that biscuit bungalow this winter. Do you know what frosted icing does to your fingertips?’

The Scribe accepted the truth, his truth of this statement.

‘Where were you? Ah yes, my successful career keeping Fairyland relevant amongst the magical realms. Carry on.’

‘This isn’t some sort of hagiography… sir.’

‘I’m aware of that. Just make me sound…’

‘Competent?’

‘Successful.’

The Scribe paused. ‘The thing is, if you were truly successful, wondrous personage, would you be merging your government with theirs?’ The Scribe indicating the Master, who was now chewing out a private Secretary. Rather literally, given the blood and residual body parts.

The Lord Chamberlain pulled his ebony robes of office away from the arterial fountain. ‘Is she a wolf, under that cloak?’

The Scribe dropped his gaze. ‘There are rumours. She has this cottage in the Woods where she curates a collection of multicoloured riding cloths, which she lends out for parties. It’s said she sometimes likes to barter the cost. It’s not cheap.’

‘An arm and a leg?’

‘That’s the basic opening bid. Everyone says that while you always know where you stand with her, be careful where you sit.’

‘Really?’ Arthur hurriedly stood, which had the effect of drawing the gaze of the assembled dignitaries to him. He scanned the faces for support but everyone looked less than happy. ‘Friends. Former rivals. Bitter enemies.’ He looked at the Master. ‘Did I miss anyone?’

‘The completely irrelevant?’

‘Did we let them in?’

‘You should know. They were once your government.’

The Lord Chamberlain fixed a smile. ‘And now they are part of yours.’

‘Really?’ The Master stood and the hushed multitudes became more hushed. She held up the parchment. ‘Following your failure to modernise your magic and the consequent bankruptcy of your government we in the Magical Kingdom welcome you to become part of our family.’ She smiled and several highly sensitive light forms dissipated in a twinkle and pfzzt. ‘Yes?’

A tentative hand had shot up. ‘What type of society will we be? We heard you ruled with iron magic.’

She looked across it Arthur. ‘What kind did you have?’

‘It was a democracy with spells.’

‘How did that work?

‘Most of the time it was a democracy but there were spells when it wasn’t.’

Anne D’Otherthing lifted the Lord Chamberlain’s limp hand. ‘Then we’ll use that.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course. You’ll barely notice we’re here.’ She turned to the crowds. ‘Welcome to Fairyland 2.0…’

Arthur gave a discrete cough.

‘…featuring the Magic Kingdom. Now why don’t you run along and issue some stamps or write a proclamation? Something useful, while we do some governing. Use the Scribe. He mostly tells the truth.’

The Lord Chamberlain glanced at the Scribe. ‘Mostly?’

The Scribe hinged at the waist and began to back out of the room, dragging his portable secretaire after him: she didn’t seem especially pleased. ‘Mostly your truth, your magnificence.’