With This Appointment You Are Really Spoiling Us!

Prince Rupprecht scowls.
'And who the devil is this, Fecklenburg?'
'It is I, Bastian, Ritter von Dweeb, you most potent highness', says the new visitor.

Fecklenburg gestures towards Dweeb. 'It is as we were just discussing, sire. See, here is the fellow that we were just talking about'.

'My father?'

'No, my lord. We talked about your father yesterday. I mean just now. Just this minute'.

'Martin Luther?'

'No, my lord. We talked about Luther more than a year ago. I mean literally, mere seconds ago, we were talking about Dweeb here'. 

Rupprecht's face contorts. Either he is thinking hard, or having an aneurysm. Possibly both. 'No, I've got nothing, Fecklenburg - you'll have to give me a clue'.

'It is Ritter von Dweeb, sir. You are going to tell him that you have appointed him to be your ambassador to the Sanjak of Zenta'.

Rupprecht's face contorts again. 'Fecklenburg, you know I hate cryptic clues - just tell me who this is and what he's doing here'.

(Above) Dweeb utters a groan. 'My lord! Zenta? Have I upset you in some way, sire?'

Rupprecht suddenly nods vigorously. 'Yes, that's right! Dweeb! Zenta! Ambassador! Well, you got there in the end, didn't you Fecklenburg!'

The ritter looks extremely downcast. He has struggled for many years to make his way through the Byzantine intricacies of the Bachscuttel diplomatic service. His success thus far in the face of the cut-and-thrust of court politics can be explained by his caution and by the fact that he wears a back and breast plate.

'Yes Dweeb! Rejoice, for you are to be my new ambassador to Zenta!'

Dweeb gulps. 'But it's really dangerous there, sire!'

'Fecklenburg says that it's perfectly safe!'

'Well', says Fecklenberg interrupting, 'I think that I actually said that it was 'generally safe'.

'But the hospodar bites!' cries Dweeb.

'Fecklenberg says that isn't true'.

'It generally isn't true, sir'.

Dweeb snuffles. 'He bit the Venetian ambassador'.

'Everyone bites the Venetian ambassador' says Rupprecht. 'That's practically his only purpose. I myself have been tempted on occasion to have a nibble'.

'But I won't be safe. I'll say something perfectly innocuous, and then Hospodar Casimir will fly off the handle. And then he'll probably take the handle and hammer it right up my ...'

'Those rumours are lies', says Rupprecht firmly. 'Generally lies' he adds quickly with a jaundiced eye on Fecklenburg.

'I think, sire, that those rumours actually are generally true', says the chamberlain.

'Look', says the prince, losing control of his italicising, 'Dweeb, someone has to go. Many of those that have been there say that the hospodar actually is a very jolly fellow and that their time there was great fun'.

'Some of those say that', says Fecklenburg.

'Those that still have their tongues, no doubt', Dweeb adds. 

'It will be fine. Besides, you've got your back and breast plate'.

'That won't help me, sire, from the threats that emanate from ... below'.

'Listen Dweeb, one way or another, you're going to Zenta to be my eyes and ears'.

'Only for as long as the hospodar lets me keep them', says Dweeb sadly.

Rupprecht waves dismissively at the ritter. 'It is decided. No more discussion. Now, begone father. Fecklenburg will fill you in on the arrangements. I look forward, Luther, to your first report!'