Power!

Revelling in his new power, there remains one other thing that King and Emperor George of Gelderland Fenwick feels he must do: rub everyone else's noses in it! To this end, it seems like the appropriate time for a splendid military parade! To make things even more memorable, George has commissioned at the entrance to his capital, Pogelswood, a mighty edifice memorialising his extraordinary victory in the latest war. The building of this proceeded with the usual sort of difficulties. George's early references to the building were his desire, not for 'a mighty edifice', but for 'a mighty erection' of stone. This being Fenwick, several of those present literally killed themselves fnarring and snurtling. Others were saved only by shooting them. Nevertheless, the monument has been quickly constructed, helped by the fact that it is constructed from cardboard (below).



Sadly, the new building was rather smaller than anticipated. George had wanted something sufficiently large that it wouldn't look out of place as a gate, or similar, at a place like Brandenburg. The usual mix-ups in the differences between inches and thumbs resulted in something that was not quite Brandenburg Gate and a little more Brandenburg Cat Flap. All in all, though, it hasn't turned out too badly, especially given that the architect believed initially that the new 'gate' was intended for a garden fence or such like. However, the Pogelswood Gate is sufficiently large that troops can march past it without feeling embarrassed - or at least any more embarrassed than they should be, given the state of their marching drill.

(Below) Keen to avoid the ravages of the plague, King and Emperor George isn't foolish enough to turn up in person for the parade. Instead, he has sent a stand-in. Taking the salute is the Fenwickian commander, Marshal Ignacio Grace-a-Dieu Cavandish: a useful replacement for George given that, if the general does have to take to his bed with the plague, he really doesn't have far to go. There is a general air of jollity and levity in the air that is rare in Mittelheim. Normally, these are drowned by the stench of the actual air. Reflecting this positive atmosphere, Cavandish has washed his nightgown and he has even put it back on again. As the troops tramp by, the marshal's staff officer, Captain Fabius Nitzwitz, engages him in conversation.

'Splendid, sir, splendid! What a splendid day! The war is well and truly over. I suppose my lord, that you will soon be retiring?'

Cavandish nods. 'I should say so, Nitzwitz - it's almost two in the afternoon and so well passed my bed time'.

'No sir - I mean that, with peace now reigning, you will be able to resign your command and return to your estates'.

'Meh', says the marshal. 'I don't think so. I find things there too confining'.

'Yes', nods the captain, 'peacetime social mores'.

'No, captain -  they make me wear trousers. It's damned unfortunate. The higher I have risen in society, the more clothes I'm expected to wear in company. It's not right'.

There are few townspeople present at the march past, the fear of the plague and accidental double entendres keeping most away. George himself doesn't mind, believing that there are few social occasions that can't be improved by having fewer poor people there.

As he finishes looking through his telescope at the last of the troops marching by, George turns to Herzog Franz, his brother.

'Excellent! Now, with Fenwickian control established over Gelderland, the name of Fenwick surely will be known throughout Europe; possibly even the world!'
Franz shrugs. 'I think that it is already'.
'What, really?'
'Well, what I mean, dear brother is that the name 'Fenwick' isn't that unusual. There's lots of Fenwicks'.
George narrows his eyes. 'What?'
'Well, as it turns out, amost every imaginary 18th century state is called Fenwick'.
'But', says George gesturing expansively out of the window, 'we're real. Nothing this disappointing could be imaginary'.
'Of course, sire, of course. I too would imagine something a lot nicer than this. Nevertheless, there are Fenwicks everywhere. All over the place'. 
'This is unacceptable', says George, striking a table with the telescope. 'Ours is the real Fenwick, not some imaginary German state. We must assert our authority. All the other Fenwicks must understand that we are preeminent!'
'Well, I could send them a strongly worded letter'.
'Yes. And henceforth, to mark our new and glorius period of Mittelheim ascendancy, we shall be known not just as Fenwick, but as the Empire of All the Fenwicks! All of the other Fenwicks will bow before us. They must tremble! Or at the very least jiggle a bit!'
'I could send the letter on headed note paper'.
'Yes, good: and use red ink!'