The Tale of the Comedian and the President
by Tom Greenwood
Genre: Fantasy/Sci-Fi
Swearwords: None.
Description: An almost fatal case of 'Late Night Fun' in the Beesidian Republic.
_____________________________________________________________________
“You know who you look like?”
Travil looked round. “No,” he replied to Farath, his co-star.
“The president.”
“Which president?” Travil replied.
“Of the Beesidian Republic. Dye your hair slightly, well quite a lot; act pompous and you’d be the spitting image. We should try and incorporate some sketches into next week’s show.”
“Doing what?”
“Doing whatever insane things the most powerful man in this section of the Sphere and possibly the whole Sphere is up to. We just have to over-do whatever he does,” Farath replied. “Or just make stuff up,” she added, shrugging her shoulders.
“So what role would you play?” Travil asked.
“I don’t know, I look nothing like his wife.”
“Put on a blonde wig and you could look like Filip-the-son and heir’s latest girl-friend.”
“Oh yes, you could always be trying to seduce me. You know the rumours.”
“Aye dirty old bugger. Do you think we’d get away with it?”
“Why not? We’re not part of the Republic.”
“Not yet,” Travil replied thoughtfully. “But if it all goes wrong we may end up having to go to Centess or Soustoo.”
“Centess, I’ve always wanted to see the Spire.”
“We need someone to play the younger Filip,” Travil suggested, “and someone to play Vice-President Jilino and what about the Arch-Chancellor…”
Hereditary President Filip Gotheroth III of the Beesidian Republic sat in the Blue Office and studied a map of the Republic. Its territory spanned four different continents. His attention was drawn to the three nations that made up the continent of Estoo to the West. If he played the game properly he would be able to add a fifth continent, the first territory added for nearly thirty years.
Everyone expected the next state to be swallowed by the Republic would be Orinog, but the President had his eyes on The Northern League in Estoo. Once The League was part of the Republic, how long before Centess and Soustoo, which shared the continent with the League, were also swallowed up?
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” the president shouted.
Eopil Krovvi, head of security, entered.
“I take it everything is secure for my trip to The Northern League?” the president asked.
“Security is fine.”
“I feel a big but in there.”
“Have you heard of ‘Late Night Fun’?”
“No, should I have?”
“It’s a popular late night comedy show, shown on TV in The Northern League.”
“And why should I be interested in this?”
“Let me show you,“ Eopil replied, pulling out a memory-chip. He handed it to the president. The president pressed a button and the table in front of him swung over to reveal the latest in entertainment systems. He then plugged the memory-chip into the front of the console.
“You need to reach about twenty minutes in,” Eopil remarked as the show started.
The president watched astounded as an actor pretending to be him tried very unsuccessfully to seduce a young woman who looked remarkably like his son’s latest girl-friend.”
“Is that it?”
“No, wait,” Eopil said.
The president watched as the bulge down the front of his trousers turned out to be a pile of cash, with which he set about trying to bribe the Prime Minister of the Northern League to surrender his country.
“They know?”
“We don’t think so, just a lucky guess. However the Northern League have started an investigation. It seems some journalists started looking into the financial affairs of their leaders.”
“Could they not stop it?”
“The Northern League likes to claim to have proper journalism.”
“So who is he?” the President asked.
“Who is who?”
“The actor playing me.”
“His name is Travil Frith.”
“Well, stop it.”
“That might prove difficult. The show was very popular. It’s all everyone in the Northern League and Centess is talking about. It’s getting syndicated to Soustoo and Shro-Jilopith as well.”
“Is it shown here?”
“No, but pirated copies are showing up in universities and such.”
“Deal with him.”
“Deal with him?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don’t care, I don’t want some second rate actor ruining my place in history.”
“We can’t be seen…”
“Of course not, but we can hire someone to do something.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
At that weekly security meeting Eopil Krovvi was asked if there were any orders from the president.
“Yes,” he replied. “The President wants someone to deal with Travil Frith, the so-called comedian from The Northern League.”
Somebody sniggered.
“How should we do that?” came a voice from the back.
“He didn’t specify.”
“Plausible deniability?”
“Something like that. Now do you all know your roles for the presidential visit?”
“We’ve been told that you solve people’s problems.”
Qalip Toorith stared at the obvious member of Beesidian security standing in his office. “Do you want a seat?” he replied.
The security man sat down in one of the only two chairs in the office.
“I am a private investigator. Nothing else,” Qalip replied.
“But if there was a problem we wanted to deal with.”
“Forgive me for asking, but don’t you represent an organisation that has been known to solve its own problems.”
“Sometimes, but then on occasion we like to hire free-lance workers for the more sensitive problems.”
Qalip Toorith stared at the man in front of him. “And hypothetically if I were to clear up your problem, then what would it be worth? Hypothetically!” There was something about the deal on offer that made him suspect that he would be rewarded handsomely.
Two days before the official state visit of the President of the Beesidian Republic to The Northern League, the Prime Minister of the Northern League resigned. The desire of the Prime Minster to spend more time with his family was stressed as was the pressure of government. The financial irregularities that had recently been uncovered were not mentioned in any of the news feeds. Nobody was fooled.
The President watched in disgust as his doppelganger tried to offer money to duplicates of the President of Orinog, the Chancellor of Aryssinia and Lead Minister Kochosh from Emtoo. He winced as Minister Kochosh kicked him on the arse. The crowed whooped with laughter.
The President was now actually beginning to dread the visit to the Northern League.
Qalip Toorith caught the ferry from Gtopil in the Province of West Beesid to Poroth in the Northern League. He then caught the monorail to Noohill and checked into the hotel under his assumed name. The first thing he did was empty the contents of his suitcase onto the bed and start assembling his favourite bespoke weapon. His quarry was due to enter the TV studios over the road later that afternoon ready for the night’s filming. Boredom made him switch on the TV. They were showing scenes of the presidential visit.
“The president will be making a broadcast from Noohill TV studios…” the TV blared. Qalip half-concentrated on the road opposite and half on the TV commentary.
An hour later, Travil Frith stepped out of a taxi and walked into the studios of Northern Independent TV. He had wanted to pretend to be the president while entering the studios and have it filmed for that week’s show, but the producers of Late Night Fun had got cold feet at the last minute. So he walked into the studios quite normally, despite being made-up to look identical to the president.
Qalip Toorith stared through the sights of his rifle at his quarry and broke out into a cold sweat. He had nearly shot the president; well it looked like the president. He sat on the floor and put his head in his hands. Had he been set up? He looked out of the window for reassurance.
Several miles away, the presidential entourage were entering the TV studios of the State TV studios.
Qalip Toorith was feeling stupid. Obviously the president wasn’t here; there was not enough security. Or was there? Was that a security agent? Perhaps it was a double bluff and the president was travelling incognito. No, he would not be so obvious. Whether it was the president or not, his quarry had left. Qalip quickly disassembled his rifle and packed it away. He knew when he was out of his depth.
“You know what we should do?” Travil Frith said.
“What?” Farath replied.
“Have a sketch about the president hiring someone to assassinate me and getting the president instead.”
“I’ll get the writers onto it,” she replied after a moment’s thought. “We can’t have you die, though.”
“Why not?”
“We need you for next week’s show.”
The president watched Travil Frith order an assassination on himself on his latest show.
“You know, he is very clever,” Eopil said, staring at the screen and trying to stifle a grin.
“In what way?”
“If he were to die in mysterious circumstances, even in an accident, after that sketch, suspicion would fall on us. No matter how much evidence to the contrary there was, conspiracy theorists would always point to us. ”
“Well make sure he doesn’t die just yet,” the president replied. “Let’s wait until he’s out of the public eye.”
Swearwords: None.
Description: An almost fatal case of 'Late Night Fun' in the Beesidian Republic.
_____________________________________________________________________
“You know who you look like?”
Travil looked round. “No,” he replied to Farath, his co-star.
“The president.”
“Which president?” Travil replied.
“Of the Beesidian Republic. Dye your hair slightly, well quite a lot; act pompous and you’d be the spitting image. We should try and incorporate some sketches into next week’s show.”
“Doing what?”
“Doing whatever insane things the most powerful man in this section of the Sphere and possibly the whole Sphere is up to. We just have to over-do whatever he does,” Farath replied. “Or just make stuff up,” she added, shrugging her shoulders.
“So what role would you play?” Travil asked.
“I don’t know, I look nothing like his wife.”
“Put on a blonde wig and you could look like Filip-the-son and heir’s latest girl-friend.”
“Oh yes, you could always be trying to seduce me. You know the rumours.”
“Aye dirty old bugger. Do you think we’d get away with it?”
“Why not? We’re not part of the Republic.”
“Not yet,” Travil replied thoughtfully. “But if it all goes wrong we may end up having to go to Centess or Soustoo.”
“Centess, I’ve always wanted to see the Spire.”
“We need someone to play the younger Filip,” Travil suggested, “and someone to play Vice-President Jilino and what about the Arch-Chancellor…”
Hereditary President Filip Gotheroth III of the Beesidian Republic sat in the Blue Office and studied a map of the Republic. Its territory spanned four different continents. His attention was drawn to the three nations that made up the continent of Estoo to the West. If he played the game properly he would be able to add a fifth continent, the first territory added for nearly thirty years.
Everyone expected the next state to be swallowed by the Republic would be Orinog, but the President had his eyes on The Northern League in Estoo. Once The League was part of the Republic, how long before Centess and Soustoo, which shared the continent with the League, were also swallowed up?
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” the president shouted.
Eopil Krovvi, head of security, entered.
“I take it everything is secure for my trip to The Northern League?” the president asked.
“Security is fine.”
“I feel a big but in there.”
“Have you heard of ‘Late Night Fun’?”
“No, should I have?”
“It’s a popular late night comedy show, shown on TV in The Northern League.”
“And why should I be interested in this?”
“Let me show you,“ Eopil replied, pulling out a memory-chip. He handed it to the president. The president pressed a button and the table in front of him swung over to reveal the latest in entertainment systems. He then plugged the memory-chip into the front of the console.
“You need to reach about twenty minutes in,” Eopil remarked as the show started.
The president watched astounded as an actor pretending to be him tried very unsuccessfully to seduce a young woman who looked remarkably like his son’s latest girl-friend.”
“Is that it?”
“No, wait,” Eopil said.
The president watched as the bulge down the front of his trousers turned out to be a pile of cash, with which he set about trying to bribe the Prime Minister of the Northern League to surrender his country.
“They know?”
“We don’t think so, just a lucky guess. However the Northern League have started an investigation. It seems some journalists started looking into the financial affairs of their leaders.”
“Could they not stop it?”
“The Northern League likes to claim to have proper journalism.”
“So who is he?” the President asked.
“Who is who?”
“The actor playing me.”
“His name is Travil Frith.”
“Well, stop it.”
“That might prove difficult. The show was very popular. It’s all everyone in the Northern League and Centess is talking about. It’s getting syndicated to Soustoo and Shro-Jilopith as well.”
“Is it shown here?”
“No, but pirated copies are showing up in universities and such.”
“Deal with him.”
“Deal with him?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don’t care, I don’t want some second rate actor ruining my place in history.”
“We can’t be seen…”
“Of course not, but we can hire someone to do something.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
At that weekly security meeting Eopil Krovvi was asked if there were any orders from the president.
“Yes,” he replied. “The President wants someone to deal with Travil Frith, the so-called comedian from The Northern League.”
Somebody sniggered.
“How should we do that?” came a voice from the back.
“He didn’t specify.”
“Plausible deniability?”
“Something like that. Now do you all know your roles for the presidential visit?”
“We’ve been told that you solve people’s problems.”
Qalip Toorith stared at the obvious member of Beesidian security standing in his office. “Do you want a seat?” he replied.
The security man sat down in one of the only two chairs in the office.
“I am a private investigator. Nothing else,” Qalip replied.
“But if there was a problem we wanted to deal with.”
“Forgive me for asking, but don’t you represent an organisation that has been known to solve its own problems.”
“Sometimes, but then on occasion we like to hire free-lance workers for the more sensitive problems.”
Qalip Toorith stared at the man in front of him. “And hypothetically if I were to clear up your problem, then what would it be worth? Hypothetically!” There was something about the deal on offer that made him suspect that he would be rewarded handsomely.
Two days before the official state visit of the President of the Beesidian Republic to The Northern League, the Prime Minister of the Northern League resigned. The desire of the Prime Minster to spend more time with his family was stressed as was the pressure of government. The financial irregularities that had recently been uncovered were not mentioned in any of the news feeds. Nobody was fooled.
The President watched in disgust as his doppelganger tried to offer money to duplicates of the President of Orinog, the Chancellor of Aryssinia and Lead Minister Kochosh from Emtoo. He winced as Minister Kochosh kicked him on the arse. The crowed whooped with laughter.
The President was now actually beginning to dread the visit to the Northern League.
Qalip Toorith caught the ferry from Gtopil in the Province of West Beesid to Poroth in the Northern League. He then caught the monorail to Noohill and checked into the hotel under his assumed name. The first thing he did was empty the contents of his suitcase onto the bed and start assembling his favourite bespoke weapon. His quarry was due to enter the TV studios over the road later that afternoon ready for the night’s filming. Boredom made him switch on the TV. They were showing scenes of the presidential visit.
“The president will be making a broadcast from Noohill TV studios…” the TV blared. Qalip half-concentrated on the road opposite and half on the TV commentary.
An hour later, Travil Frith stepped out of a taxi and walked into the studios of Northern Independent TV. He had wanted to pretend to be the president while entering the studios and have it filmed for that week’s show, but the producers of Late Night Fun had got cold feet at the last minute. So he walked into the studios quite normally, despite being made-up to look identical to the president.
Qalip Toorith stared through the sights of his rifle at his quarry and broke out into a cold sweat. He had nearly shot the president; well it looked like the president. He sat on the floor and put his head in his hands. Had he been set up? He looked out of the window for reassurance.
Several miles away, the presidential entourage were entering the TV studios of the State TV studios.
Qalip Toorith was feeling stupid. Obviously the president wasn’t here; there was not enough security. Or was there? Was that a security agent? Perhaps it was a double bluff and the president was travelling incognito. No, he would not be so obvious. Whether it was the president or not, his quarry had left. Qalip quickly disassembled his rifle and packed it away. He knew when he was out of his depth.
“You know what we should do?” Travil Frith said.
“What?” Farath replied.
“Have a sketch about the president hiring someone to assassinate me and getting the president instead.”
“I’ll get the writers onto it,” she replied after a moment’s thought. “We can’t have you die, though.”
“Why not?”
“We need you for next week’s show.”
The president watched Travil Frith order an assassination on himself on his latest show.
“You know, he is very clever,” Eopil said, staring at the screen and trying to stifle a grin.
“In what way?”
“If he were to die in mysterious circumstances, even in an accident, after that sketch, suspicion would fall on us. No matter how much evidence to the contrary there was, conspiracy theorists would always point to us. ”
“Well make sure he doesn’t die just yet,” the president replied. “Let’s wait until he’s out of the public eye.”
About the Author
Tom Greenwood was born in Bishopbriggs and now lives in Edinburgh with his wife, two daughters and a rabbit. You can find out more about the Beesidian Republic in his novel, to be published soon by Night Publishing.