Vtorbetin
20-05-2005, 13:38
It was early evening in Vtorbetin, and the market traders were packing away their stalls, having sold all that they were going to sell that day. The Palace Market at high noon was always a glorious sight to behold, as thousands upon thousands of Vtorbetites (and indeed some from further afield) spent their hard-earned money on the various knick-knacks and trinkets that one could very well discover amongst the junk that most traders sought to get rid of as quickly as possible.
Prince Faraki Alazumar Pekostu Hazar the Second (Faphtwo for short) watched from his balcony as the red and white striped fold-away tents shrank into nothingness and the traders left the pavilion, leaving a trail of paper cups and fliers of various colours in their wake. The prison vans would soon arrive, and those who had committed crimes against the state would soon be repaying their debt to society by collecting the rubbish and doing what they would with them. Of course, anything that could be used to aid a prisoners escape was confiscated, and that prisoner’s rations given to the dogs. Prince Faphtwo had heard tales of men creating a new currency out of squashed polystyrene cups, and making playing cards out of trampled pieces of paper. The poker games would last long into the night, but as long as it kept them out of trouble, what right had he to intervene?
“Prince Faphtwo, you asked to be notified when the delivery was ready.”
Ah yes, the delivery. The prince had quite forgotten about it. Tonight was the night that Vtorbetin would be put on the map, and he wanted to watch as his legacy began. He followed the servant down a flight of winding stairs, through one of the palace’s many art galleries, and down a further flight of steps into the courtyard. Before Prince Faphtwo was a sight to behold; one hundred thousand carrier pigeons, each one painstakingly trained for the past year to fly to its predetermined destination, and only to its predetermined destination. Once there, it would deliver its message, and then it would become a martyr to the state – a small charge had been fitted to each bird’s right leg, and when the message tied there was taken, the bird would blow, creating a tasty snack for whomsoever took their fancy to it.
The birds had been locked in a large cage for the past few days. It was a cage large enough for ten times the number of birds, but the prince was a merciful man, and had not wanted the pigeons to suffer from claustrophobia. And so it was that the prince observed a cage containing one hundred thousand pigeons, all flapping their wings, trying in vain to find an exit. The noise was deafening, and a number of the servants had taken to wearing ear plugs (for the noise), not to mention hard hats (for when the pigeons had ‘little accidents’ during feeding time).
The prince turned to his right, towards a servant who held a rope that, when pulled, would free the birds. The courtyard became silent apart from the pigeons (that was alright with the prince – they would die soon enough anyway) as the servants waited for the prince to give the order. Several seconds passed before:
“Release the pigeons!”
All at once the courtyard sprung into life. The servant holding the rope tugged at it with all his might, and slowly but surely, the metal cage began to open. With one final effort, the servant was sent sprawling as the entire top face of the metal cube slid away. The pigeons sensed their freedom, and within a matter of minutes, all but one bird had flown away. This one pigeon had been trampled to death in the rush to escape. The prince pointed at the squashed mess.
“What was this pigeon’s destination?” One man kneeled next to the pink goo and carefully examined the message.
“It is the messenger for Soudaine, my prince. How shall we contact them now?”
“Oh…have someone give them a call on the telephone.”
“Er…with all due respect, my prince…couldn’t we have made phone calls to all the nations?”
“We could have done that…but this was a lot more fun, don’t you think?”
“Yes, my prince.” Having ensured that the charge would definitely not go off, the servant retrieved the message and handed it to Prince Faphtwo, who opened it and read aloud the invitation – the same invitation currently being delivered to all the nations in the world:
DEAREST NEIGHBOUR,
I, PRINCE FARAKI ALAZUMAR PEKOSTU HAZAR THE SECOND (BUT PLEASE, CALL ME FAPHTWO) CORDIALLY INVITE A REPRESENTATIVE FROM YOUR NATION TO JOIN US HERE IN VTORBETIN TO CELEBRATE OUR EMERGENCE IN THE WORLD. THERE WILL BE FOOD, DRINK AND SCANTILY CLAD WOMEN TO FILL YOU TO YOUR HEART’S CONTENT. SEND NO RSVP, JUST TURN UP AND YOU WILL BE TREATED LIKE ROYALTY – JUST LIKE ME, AS A MATTER OF FACT. YOU ARE NOT OBLIGED TO BRING GIFTS, BUT IF YOU HAPPEN TO HAVE A SPARE PRICELESS GEM OR TWO JUST LYING AROUND, I WOULD BE MORE THAN HAPPY TO RELIEVE YOU OF IT. BEST WISHES FOR THE FUTURE OF YOUR NATION.
Prince Faphtwo turned to go back into the warmth of the palace.
“Now, what should I wear?”
Prince Faraki Alazumar Pekostu Hazar the Second (Faphtwo for short) watched from his balcony as the red and white striped fold-away tents shrank into nothingness and the traders left the pavilion, leaving a trail of paper cups and fliers of various colours in their wake. The prison vans would soon arrive, and those who had committed crimes against the state would soon be repaying their debt to society by collecting the rubbish and doing what they would with them. Of course, anything that could be used to aid a prisoners escape was confiscated, and that prisoner’s rations given to the dogs. Prince Faphtwo had heard tales of men creating a new currency out of squashed polystyrene cups, and making playing cards out of trampled pieces of paper. The poker games would last long into the night, but as long as it kept them out of trouble, what right had he to intervene?
“Prince Faphtwo, you asked to be notified when the delivery was ready.”
Ah yes, the delivery. The prince had quite forgotten about it. Tonight was the night that Vtorbetin would be put on the map, and he wanted to watch as his legacy began. He followed the servant down a flight of winding stairs, through one of the palace’s many art galleries, and down a further flight of steps into the courtyard. Before Prince Faphtwo was a sight to behold; one hundred thousand carrier pigeons, each one painstakingly trained for the past year to fly to its predetermined destination, and only to its predetermined destination. Once there, it would deliver its message, and then it would become a martyr to the state – a small charge had been fitted to each bird’s right leg, and when the message tied there was taken, the bird would blow, creating a tasty snack for whomsoever took their fancy to it.
The birds had been locked in a large cage for the past few days. It was a cage large enough for ten times the number of birds, but the prince was a merciful man, and had not wanted the pigeons to suffer from claustrophobia. And so it was that the prince observed a cage containing one hundred thousand pigeons, all flapping their wings, trying in vain to find an exit. The noise was deafening, and a number of the servants had taken to wearing ear plugs (for the noise), not to mention hard hats (for when the pigeons had ‘little accidents’ during feeding time).
The prince turned to his right, towards a servant who held a rope that, when pulled, would free the birds. The courtyard became silent apart from the pigeons (that was alright with the prince – they would die soon enough anyway) as the servants waited for the prince to give the order. Several seconds passed before:
“Release the pigeons!”
All at once the courtyard sprung into life. The servant holding the rope tugged at it with all his might, and slowly but surely, the metal cage began to open. With one final effort, the servant was sent sprawling as the entire top face of the metal cube slid away. The pigeons sensed their freedom, and within a matter of minutes, all but one bird had flown away. This one pigeon had been trampled to death in the rush to escape. The prince pointed at the squashed mess.
“What was this pigeon’s destination?” One man kneeled next to the pink goo and carefully examined the message.
“It is the messenger for Soudaine, my prince. How shall we contact them now?”
“Oh…have someone give them a call on the telephone.”
“Er…with all due respect, my prince…couldn’t we have made phone calls to all the nations?”
“We could have done that…but this was a lot more fun, don’t you think?”
“Yes, my prince.” Having ensured that the charge would definitely not go off, the servant retrieved the message and handed it to Prince Faphtwo, who opened it and read aloud the invitation – the same invitation currently being delivered to all the nations in the world:
DEAREST NEIGHBOUR,
I, PRINCE FARAKI ALAZUMAR PEKOSTU HAZAR THE SECOND (BUT PLEASE, CALL ME FAPHTWO) CORDIALLY INVITE A REPRESENTATIVE FROM YOUR NATION TO JOIN US HERE IN VTORBETIN TO CELEBRATE OUR EMERGENCE IN THE WORLD. THERE WILL BE FOOD, DRINK AND SCANTILY CLAD WOMEN TO FILL YOU TO YOUR HEART’S CONTENT. SEND NO RSVP, JUST TURN UP AND YOU WILL BE TREATED LIKE ROYALTY – JUST LIKE ME, AS A MATTER OF FACT. YOU ARE NOT OBLIGED TO BRING GIFTS, BUT IF YOU HAPPEN TO HAVE A SPARE PRICELESS GEM OR TWO JUST LYING AROUND, I WOULD BE MORE THAN HAPPY TO RELIEVE YOU OF IT. BEST WISHES FOR THE FUTURE OF YOUR NATION.
Prince Faphtwo turned to go back into the warmth of the palace.
“Now, what should I wear?”