Merry Christmas!

And so we limp towards the end of yet another year! However yours has gone, dear reader, you can rest assured in the knowledge that it has probably gone better than Ritter von Dweeb's, the Bachscuttel ambassador to Zenta.

The Ritter has been sent to Hospodar Casimir's torture chamber. It isn't actually called a torture chamber, because Casimir felt that that label was judgemental and set the wrong tone for his court. Though he might be a grasping loon, Casimir still feels it important that his court should appear to embrace some aspects of the Enlightenment. In the new spirit of rational enquiry, then, the torture chamber has been renamed the Hall of Investigation, just as the execution chamber has become the Hall of Separation.

Being tortured is, in itself, a perfectly good excuse for being in a bad mood, especially at Christmas. Dweeb's temperament, though, has been worsened even further by the presence of Hashmi Agha, Casimir's Equality and Diversity Officer. Hashmi is annoyingly cheery, and a eunuch who clearly loves his work. The Hospodar, who also loves tool-related persuasion, has come down to see how things are getting on: or indeed, being pulled off.

'Greetings slave! How goes your investigation of the Bachscuttel ambassador!'
Hashmi shrugs. 'He doesn't seem very happy, Dread Lord'.

'Well', replies Casimir, 'perhaps he doesn't like Christmas. I'll tell you what, why don't you strap him to the rotating torture wheel: let's turn that frown upside down!'

'A marvellous idea, my lord', says Hashmi. 'But that might take some time, and I don't know how long you want me to stretch this out'.

Casimir nods. 'Oh, a foot or two, I think. Let's put him on the rack!'.

Dweeb emits a yelp as Hashmi winds the mechanism again.

'Ow, ow! Aren't you supposed to ask me questions and only threaten to torture me if I don't tell you the truth?' cries the ambassador.

Casimir shrugs. 'Ask you questions? Well, I don't want to insult your intelligence'.
'I'm willing to take the chance' groans Dweeb.
'No, no', says the  Hospodar. 'Let's just take it as read that I've asked you some questions and you've told me everything that I want to hear'.
'No, Lord Hospodar -  try me: perhaps I won't be as insulted as you think! I'll convert - I'll turn Turk. I'll become Muslim'.

'Oh no, you don't want to do that'.
'I think I might ...' replies Dweeb as Hashmi winds the rack.
'It's very tiring - there's a lot of praying at inconvenient times'.
'Being tortured is quite tiring too ...'
'Yes, but converting won't stop that!'
'I didn't think that you were allowed to torture co-religionists?'
'No, no, Dweeb - I can't enslave Muslims. But I can certainly torture them. About a fifth of my subjects are Muslim: how could I maintain a sense of fairness so important to the legitimacy of my rule if I couldn't torture them as much as I torture everyone else. Besides, technically, I'm an Orthodox Christian'.
'Really?' replies the Ritter. 'I didn't know that'.

'Well', says Casimir evenly after a period of investigative stretching. 'Time marches on. I should probably get you to say something really incriminating in case that it turns out to be useful later'.

Hashmi brandishes a saw. 'That's fine, Dread Lord - I’ll get him to open up'. He approaches Dweeb. 'Now ambassador, this might sting a bit!'
Dweeb yelps. 'You’re holding a saw!'
'Stop being a baby!'
'But it's almost Christmas!'

'You're right, ambassador'.
'Wouldn't mercy be in the spirit of the times?' wheedles Dweeb.
'Hmm, I'll tell you what would be in keeping with the spirit of the times', replies Casimir, selecting a small pair of pliers. 'Pulling some crackers!'

***

And so, we hope here in Mittelheim that your festive season is a jolly one, and mercifully free of saws, pliers, or other instruments of unpleasantness, and that this coming year brings you more of what you want, and a bit less of what you don't.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New year!