Macster - The Missing Links

It was late afternoon, and the sun was shining warmly on the bean fields surrounding the quaint, halcyon village of Beantown. Beneath a cloudless blue sky, at the edge of town, a splendid greeting platform, resplendent with stage and podium, had been erected, and the Mayor fairly quivered in pride as he looked it over once more. Prince Wendell would be most pleased when he saw it, most pleased indeed!

That is, if he ever arrived.

Beginning to sweat in his well-cut black suit, and not only from the heat, the little Mayor tugged at his shirt collar and looked around uncomfortably. Above the platform, the golden banner that proclaimed in large letters BEANTOWN WELCOMES OUR FUTURE KING WENDELL sagged in the windless air, while on the ground, the crowd of villagers let their tiny handheld flags, dyed the royal green, flutter listlessly, only a few extremely loyal worthies continuing to wave them with any eagerness. They had been waiting for hours, and the prince, who had been due to arrive that morning, still had not come.

Gauging the mood of the crowd, the Mayor stepped forward and raised his quavering voice with as much confidence as he could muster. "Any minute now, I'm sure Prince Wendell will arrive to receive the coronation throne which our craftsmen have tirelessly spent the last two years making." He gestured at the rich maple throne displayed prominently beneath the platform's baldachin, and was pleased to hear an approving murmur from the villagers. Flattery was always a good choice.

But one of the craftsmen, who had his arms crossed angrily, said what was on everyone's mind. "He's not coming, is he?"

The Mayor was appalled. Rushing down the steps to the craftsman's side, he hastened to gainsay him. "Of course he is! Have no worry." He patted the man on the shoulder reassuringly, then tried to sound like he believed his own words. "I'm sure he's been delayed for a very good reason."

As if on cue, a young villager came racing from the left, pushing his way violently through the crowd. His face was a mask of fear. The Mayor fiddled nervously with the gold medallion of office around his neck.

"Terrible news!" the man cried. "There's been a breakout from the prison." He paused. "The Queen has escaped."

All the blood left the Mayor's face, and his white mustache trembled. "The Queen? The Queen!" He turned frantically to the other villagers. "Put out the roadblocks! She must be caught or we're doomed!" This was a catastrophe...how could this have happened? He hoped he would not be blamed for it somehow...

Then another young villager appeared from the right, running just as fast as the first had. The Mayor's heart leaped in his chest. What more could go wrong? But this man was beaming. "Wonderful news, wonderful news!" He pointed back down the road toward the prison. "Prince Wendell is coming!"

It was as if a vise had been released from his heart. Fanning himself, the Mayor smiled and heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness!" he cried, then directed his words to the crowd as he remounted the platform. "He'll know what to do!"

A bustle of activity ensued as the crowd regained their sense of pride and loyalty and turned to face the roadway, raising their flags high. This time they did not have long to wait, for the people had barely arranged into a semblance of order again, and the Mayor had just straightened his bowler, when the royal carriage swung around the bend, its gray steeds with their red plumes galloping beautifully at its head. The Mayor gave the signal, and at once the trumpeters began the fanfare and the cheering throng rushed toward the carriage.

As the vehicle drew closer, the Mayor noted with a frown that the Prince had his head extended out the window, surveying the crowd with bulging eyes and an eager expression...and it almost looked as if his tongue were hanging out of his mouth, rather like a dog's... Shaking his head to clear it of the impossible image, the Mayor stepped forward, arms upraised, as he proclaimed in his loudest, most officious voice. "Welcome to Beantown, your...Majes...ty..."

Jaw dropping, he let his voice trail off as the carriage wheeled up to the platform--and then drove right on by. The crowd was equally dumbfounded, some members shouting curses, some begging frantically for Wendell to come back, some simply standing in shock. But nothing they did seemed to have any effect. The carriage continued on, barreling along the beaten road as the horses did not even slow their stride. In moments the carriage had disappeared around the next bend.

When the sound of its passage had faded into silence, the Mayor slowly lowered his arms. Around him the citizens of Beantown once more began to grumble and complain, and this time he did not try to placate them. For the little Mayor's mustache bristled, and his face turned beet red in growing fury.

How dare he...