Speed Bonnie Bloat!

'No! This cannot be! King Wilhelm is alive?' says General Antonin Unpronunski incredulously. Unpronunski stands in a corridor of the palace of the margave of Badwurst-Wurstburp. With him are two other individuals.

'Even so' replies Lord Duncan de Sordelay. Lord Duncan is one of the chief representatives of the Jacobite emigres that reside in Wurstburp.

'I have myself seen him this day', says Duncan's compatriot, a young lady of noble demeanor.

'And who might you be?' asks the general.

'Why, I am Lady Flora Spreadswell, Wilhelm's companion, who helped him escape from Gelderland in a boat'.

The general frowns. 'I find that hard to believe young lady. First, he was imprisoned in Gelderland, which is landlocked: so unless the boat was shaped and acted a lot like a horse, I can't see that it would have improved his mobility much. Second, no boat with Wilhelm in it would ever float'.

'It did sink quite quickly', admits lady Spreadswell. 'But it turned out that the prison moat was quite shallow. From there I was able to spirit him away'.

'The phrase "spirit him away" implies a turn of speed, my lady, that would defy most expectations of Wilhelm - unless, of course, you put some wheels on him'.

Flora nods. 'In truth, sir, it was more "roll" than "spirit" - but the effect was much the same'.

'But ... but ...' says Unpronunski. 'But ... Wilhelm died! Everyone knows that! Inexplicably, he managed to put a door upon himself and then cover it with very, very heavy stones! He was crushed to death!'

'He was indeed somewhat taller and flatter than I had been led to expect', acknowledges Lady Flora. 'But otherwise, he was certainly King Wilhelm Penwick-Fuppet of Gelderland. He bore all the hallmarks!'

'But this is ... this is a disaster!' Unpronunski groans and holds his head in his hands. He wishes that the margrave's nephew Karl von Porckenstauffen, known as 'Bunnie Prince Karlie' because of his buck teeth, were here: at least he could then push some of the responsibility for dealing with this nonsense onto him. Karl, however, is indisposed. In continuing to embrace Jacobite fashion, he has suffered a common Jacobite injury and been bitten by his sporran. 'This Wilhelm ... if he is indeed Wilhelm ... is a dolt! He cannot help our cause! Unless the key strategic problem that we face is that we have too many scones, then this man cannot help us in the current war!' The general shakes his head. 'Have you told the margrave yet?'

'No, no, general', replies Lord Duncan, softly. 'I wished to speak to you in private first, which is why I have asked you to come here'. Duncan begins to speak in urgent tones. 'General, our latest military defeat, this time at the hands of the sodden serfs of Kurland, is proof of a truth that is making itself clearer by the day - our Jacobite troops are losing their commitment! And they are losing their commitment because they are losing their faith in their Scottish heritage. They are too long in Mittelheim. Can you not see it? The signs are there. Clansmen scorning their kilts in favour of lederhosen; respectable highlanders urinating in chamber pots instead of shop doorways. Who now amongst them has ever experienced clootie dumplings!' 

'Clootie dumplings?'

'It is a dessert, sir'.

'Are you sure? Because it sounds like a medical condition involving painfully swollen gonads'.

'No, sir - it is very much a dessert. Probably. But Wilhelm's return as a pretender to the throne will surely evoke parallels with our dear and lamented Bonnie Prince Charlie! This is just what is needed to galvanise our Jacobite troops - a powerful narrative of unfulfilled royal destiny! All we need to do is to create around Wilhelm an aura of mystique!'

The general frowns. 'That's not going to be easy. As far as I remember, the only thing that was around him in any quantities were biscuit crumbs'.

'We have had an idea of where to start', says Lady Flora.

'Yes', says Lord Duncan. 'Now, general, come with me through these doors: I have something to show you'.

'It's not your clootie dumplings is it?' replies Unpronunski morosely.

'Not nearly so swollen', says Lady Flora, 'but quite as large ...'