Black Mischief

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WE, Setk, Emperor of Azania, Chief of the Chiefs of Sakuyu, Lord of Wanda and Tyrant of the Seas, Bachelor of the Arts of Oxford University, being in this the twenty-fourth year of our life, summoned by the wisdom of Al-mighty God and the unanimous voice of our people to the throne of our ancestors, do hereby proclaim…” Seth paused in his dictation and gazed out across the harbour where in the fresh breeze of early morning the last dhow was setting sail for the open sea. “Rats,” he said; “stinking curs. They art all running away.”

The Indian secretary sat attentive, his fountain pen poised over the pad of writing paper, his eyes blinking gravely behind rimless pince-nez.

“Is there still no news from the hills?”

“None of unquestionable veracity, your majesty.”

“I gave orders that the wireless was to be mended.

Where is Marx? I told him to see to it.”

“He evacuated the town late yesterday evening.”

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