Herr Today, Gone to Barrow!

Chamberlain Fecklenburg knocks cautiously before entering the council chamber of Schloss Tanvaund, Prince Rupprecht of Saukopf-Bachscuttel's hunting lodge. Inside, the prince seems uncharacteristically focused.

Fecklenburg coughs politely. 'Am I interrupting, sir?'

'I'm reading', replies Rupprecht.

Fecklenberg considers this. 'Really, sir? Are you feeling well?'

The prince gestures, a book in his hand. 'See here - the latest from my favourite author, Sven von Hassell. It's called 'Turnip Torture Grenadiers'.

'I see he's mellowed, then', replies the chamberlain.

Rupprecht waggles his finger. 'You know, shouldn't we employ him? He seems like a man with extraordinary experience of war. Especially war involving ...' he points at the book's title '... dangerous root vegetables. I think that he would be a very useful advisor'.

'An excellent idea; but sadly, sir, I think that his books are works of fiction'.

'They 're not true?' asks Rupprecht, shocked.

'Indeed, my lord - even so. Also, and another issue worth considering, I don't think that Herr Hassell actually exists'.

'Then ... how does he write his books?'

'It's a pen name sir. Rumour has it that these books that you like so much are actually written by the English author Jonathan Swift. Although, a more recent scurrilous rumour has it that they were written by Swift's wife'.

'A woman? I think I'd like to meet her. She seems broad-minded on the vegetable front'.

Fecklenberg considers this. 'Alas my lord, since she writes, I think it is unlikely that she is blind, and on that basis meeting you might not be a good idea'.

'But I need a wife, Fecklenberg - I need an heir!'

'My lord, as might be hinted at by her name, Frau Swift is married - in this case to herr Jonathan Swift. Moreover, and here I'm afraid you have a particular problem, as I have intimated many times you are already married'.

Fecklenberg's brow suddenly furrows. 'My lord - why is there a gigantic wheelbarrow in your chamber?'
The prince shrugs. 'I'm waiting for the arrival of the potatoes that you promised.
'Potatoes?'
'Yes - at three. The arrival of the taters'.
'That's ... that's the Tatars, sir. Representatives from Zenta'.
'Oh'.
There's a period of slightly embarrassed silence.
'Do you think they'd like to buy a wheelbarrow?' asks Rupprecht.

Fecklenberg moves quickly to change the subject. 'My lord, I bring news of the expedition to Schrote'.
'Excellent!' says Rupprecht enthusiastically, 'I'm in need of some good news'.
'Yes', says his chamberlain delicately, 'about that ...'