The Silent Prince

2: Why Is Everyone So Incompetent?

$ RIKKARD $

"Can you do accounts in your head?" I asked. "Have you a good memory? Most importantly, are you skilled in saving money?"

"Indeed, sir!" and then he rambled on. The applicant's grey moustache moved more expressively the longer that he spoke, like a baby hedgehog that had come to life. It disgusted me. What use was there in maintaining and growing such a pointless piece of facial hair?

"No," I said finally before he could even finish his answer--his rambling, pointless answer. "Leave."

"But—But, sir! I mean, Your Highness!" The lord fell at my feet. That was the problem. All of the men who applied for the post of my secretary were far too concerned with impressing the royal family, than properly performing their jobs. Their obsequiousness overrode their competence. "Please! I am more than qualified for the position!"

"If you were, I would not be demanding that you leave. Now get out, Lord Waverton, before I have the guards throw you out! You have wasted quite enough of my time already," I intoned.

His face turned bright red, and his moustache seemed to truly move of its own accord like a small threatened animal. "The nerve of you! Just because you are a prince—"

I didn't need to hear the rest, simply snapping my fingers and saying one word, in a tone I had cultivated to save time. "Guards!"

Lord Waverton was dragged out by the ankles, his long feathery moustache trailing the ground. "I'll get you back, you princeling!"

I remained unaffected. Facial expressions such as rolling my eyes or sighing would have been a waste of time and energy. "Send in the next candidate!"

After a moment, no one came forwards through the door of my uselessly ornate and comfortable study. Were they all such craven, spineless cowards, that they could not meet with me? "Well?"

"Erm, Mr. Ambrose, sir..." a timid, childish voice piped up after a moment. "There are no more applicants, Your Highness. Lord Waverton was the last of them. There were fifty candidates, and you sent them all away."

"Indeed?" was all I said to the young page, not wasting any more syllables. I had done that with good reason. They were all hopeless, useless candidates with about as much secretarial potential as a lamp-stand!

I despised this place, this cage of a palace. It was unnecessarily luxurious, for one, and for another, there were far too many people whose sole job was to attend to the needs of another person, when those needs could perfectly be fulfilled by themselves! Those servants could have been employees in my business, not wasting time polishing shoes or silverware or people's rear ends!

"Erm... may I ask why that is, sir... that is, Your Majesty?" Why did he keep wasting precious oxygen and syllables by stuttering? What sort of incompetent fool was this that had been sent to the palace? "Why did you send them all away?"

Silence. I gave him a simple, but cold look, that set his knees to quaking in his brown knee breeches. "Why would I send away utterly unqualified candidates?"

"Oh... I see... Your Majesty... I think... it is best if I leave now..." The page scampered away before he could suffer more of my wrath, apparently unable to stand my silence any longer. Few men were able to.

Good. The less incompetent fools I saw today, the better. Now, I would have to see about the real candidates that my mother had summoned to the palace for a meeting with me tonight. I hoped they would not turn out to be as poorly equipped to work as my secretary, as the other men I had met with from this afternoon to this evening. For some reason, my mother, Queen Samantha Ambrose, had instructed me to wear my finest clothing, but what use would there be for finery and frippery, for epaulets and gilt, when I was simply meeting with a group of men? No use at all, that was for certain. So I remained in my simple, all-black suit and top hat.

I hesitated before turning to the ballroom--a rarity for me. I need some fresh air before meeting with what would surely be another band of louts. Or worse, traitors...

Pushing open the double doors of the palace, I walked briskly out onto the gravel path and into the cold night. Battlewood was not as austere or severe a place as I would have liked it to be--there were too many chandeliers, rich carpets, and bouquets in expensive vases--but the outside of it was simple. Plain, trimmed hedges lining the walkways, and a narrow path leading down a hill where the carriages of the applicants would be arriving. I took that path now, breathing in the crisp air, when suddenly I heard shouting. Feminine shouting.

Why would there be women coming to the palace? We weren't due to have any servants applying for positions at Battlewood, nor would there be any deliveries made by women. And I certainly would not be hiring a female as my secretary. As I moved closer, yet unsure of my reasons for doing so, I noticed that there was an overturned coach, and a man holding a pistol standing in front of seven females. One older, likely a guardian, and the rest of varying, marriageable ages. Their pale faces all looked terrified... all except one...

"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded, stepping closer. What, exactly, were this band of ruffians and lot of women doing outside the palace?"Who are you, and what are you doing--mmphf!"

The nerve of them! How dare this unsavoury highwayman attempt to do such an unspeakable act such as robbing me? The crown prince of Battlewood? I would not stand for this!

As it turned out, I didn't need to, when he and a previously unseen accomplice wrestled me to the ground, gagged me, and tied me to one of the females, of all things!