The State of Royalty in the new World Order
After my experience with the King of London, I came to wondering about royalty in London, the royal palaces and the riches. So today I have come to Buckingham Palace. First, a little history. After the plague, there were only three possible surviving members of the Royal Family; Beatrice and Eugenie (known to be with their mother in Switzerland at the time), and Harry, who was at Eton. The Old Etonians, as they are calling themselves, are the rulers of Surrey, but no one knows if Harry's still there (or for that matter, even if he's still alive). My informant about this gang was an escapee from Redhill, and he certainly didn't care if Harry was alive or not.
So, Buckingham Palace (and presumably all the other Royal Palaces). Unsurprisingly, it became occupied within a month. Certain people, myself included, were waiting to see if great artworks would be used as firewood, and fantastic jewels thrown out like so much trash. The good news is, they weren't. As far as I know, movable values have been put in a large room with some of the unmoveable stuff, and things fragile and delicate have been locked in their rooms. Of course, this raises another question about the appreciation of Art in this world (something I may return to, as I haven't visited the National Gallery for some time).
And the new residents? I don't know yet. But I hope to. I'm hoping that the lure of being talked about and putting the record straight will work for them as it works for most people, and tempt them into granting me an audience. At least I know that today I won't need Rob, because the Guards keep order round here.
One of the guards greets me at the gate, and walks me to the building. As we walk in, I realise how the Palace still fills me with awe. The gold on the Gate is still polished so it shines, and the building is as beautiful as ever. Inside, I am led up some stairs to a corridor, where I am apparently left to wait for my hosts. I can't help myself from being a tourist and gawping. I've always loved marble.
As I wait, I start listening. Even now, so long after the Old World, I can hear people. Movement, work, people. I wonder idly how many there are in the building, and what work they do. Are they workers, servants or slaves? I am shocked out of my speculation by a closer noise - people coming down the stairs.
There are four of them, all about the age of 19 (why do all my interviews make me feel old?) and the look like rulers. There is affinity in their clothes and being - I have heard from others that they act as one, and I can believe it.
"Shall we go in?"
We go into a parlour, and they motion me to sit down. Marble busts of the great and the good surround me, and the whole thing’s a bit…austere. But then, they are the rulers. I try to clear my head and not be intimidated. It takes a lot of effort.
“You will begin?” I try not to be surprised… she’s French. I know, I know, but I had expected them to be the most English people in London.
“How did you come together?” They look at me, and Richard motions Elizabeth to talk. (the names are not their own, but they are intentional)
“When the country was falling, we were all scared. Everyone was. Even you, I think. It seemed natural to us that here would be safe.”
“You came together?” Mary takes up the tale.
“No, no. We came separately. I came from the hotel I was staying in when my parents died, Richard from Hackney, Elizabeth from Greenwich and John from Islington. It seemed safe here, and as it turned out, we were right.”
“How quickly did you form an allegiance?”
“Not very quickly at all, by the standards of some here. It took two weeks before I had the courage to talk to anyone else.”
“Was there anyone else here?”
“There were a lot here, and at the start there were many arguments about who would do what and why, and all that.” She waves a hand dismissively at ‘all that’.
“In the end though, it was voted that we should lead. The others – there were three of them – they were not happy. They said we had cheated. But’ and she looks straight at me ‘We. Did. Not. Cheat”
“I’m sure you didn’t. What do you do now? Where are the others who where here when you were?”
“They are mostly still here. We all work together to make a stable home.” Looking at them, I must admit I’m hard pushed to see how this four do much manual work.
“We offer charity as well. In the tradition of…” She looks at her friends
“…Maundy Thursday. People can come to us and be given a home for a night, or a week, or however long they need if they are in danger, or they can come and get meals, or clothing.”
“How many do you extend this to?”
“As many as we can, and as many as come.”
“Are you aware that your numbers may increase when people read this?”
“Yes. We would be happy to help people, and we can all work together. We should not be trying to divide ourselves now. Unity is more important than ever.”
“Do you ever have any problems? What you’re describing sounds too good to be true, especially after the people I’ve spoken to.”
“There are always problems. But they are sorted out very quickly. We try and keep a happy home, and troublemakers are not welcome.”
“Where do they go?”
“Does it matter?’ She’s unnecessarily sharp ‘We would suppose they join one of the gangs running riot on the streets. We give them food and let them go. Why are you so interested in how much people are suffering? Your interviews, they talk of things being bad, and wrong, and then you wonder why people are angry? We are happy here, and you do not believe it. Are you really so unhappy?”
“I apologise, ma’am. I am just…unused to people being largely happy now.” And scared. I think I need to get out before I upset anyone else. I’m still not convinced.
“Thankyou for your time, but I regret I must go now. I have a long way to travel and I do not want to be riding alone at night.” I think we all know that something’s gone wrong, but I’m not sure if they think I’m still suspicious.
“We are happy to receive you again should you require it, Writer.”
“Thankyou. I will let you know if I need any further help.”
As I am walked out by one of the guards, the candles are being brought tout. A place such as this must get through a lot. I wonder idly where they get them all from now…
[possibly not for publication] I went home this week. I know, I know, you can never truly go home, but there were some things I’d left behind that I hoped might still be there. Things I needed. And I had to get out of the city anyway. It was suggested to me that it might be a good idea. The thing is, I have no idea why or what I’ve done. Max is yet to bother me, and while I had a difficult interview with the inhabitants of Buckingham Palace, I didn’t think it was that bad. But this morning Leah looked at me with a look I haven’t seen her use for two years. She’s gone back to the way she was when I met her, terrified that it was all going to start again. I was the same then, but I could cope with it. I’ve been coping with it for so long.
So, here I am. My house was still relatively intact, and someone tried to break in a while ago. Come to think of it, that might have been me. It smelt musty, and I’m pleased to think that I was the last person here. I know what I’m looking for – an old diary, some jewellery, and a bed for the night. Except that when I get upstairs I find myself already there. I broke down and cried for the first time in three years. The house itself wasn’t that important, but I’m reminded of a time when I had something. I had an address, an identity, and a surname. Why do I miss it so much? I don’t know. And why am I writing it down? I used to think it was catharsis, but I think its desperation. There must be a point to all this, so I’ll bloody well record the world until I find it.
Enough moping. I get up, get what I came for and leave. I’ll find somewhere else to spend the night. It would have been nice, but I’ve slept rough enough nights not to care. I decide to try a couple of streets over. Maybe, just maybe, some of my friends are there. And if not, maybe an empty house with an intact roof. I have to climb over army trucks to get out. I remember when they first came. They were supposed to stop anyone getting out, but that was no protection against the plague. A week after they arrived, the soldiers were dead. It was that quick everywhere. No one knew why we’d survived. Why the children? Why me? The soldiers are still there. No one could even be bothered to bury them. I walk a little quicker. Just in case.
It’s completely deserted. I’d expected at least a band of boys with knives trying to threaten me, but there’s nothing. Then I remember: this is where it all started.