It Smells Like Something's Pied in Here!

In Pfeildorf, Prince Rupprecht's chamberlain is deep in conversation with a military courier carrying dispatches. The courier seems rather exercised.

'I have been trying all morning to gain an audience with the prince', he says tetchily. 'Why chamberlain, have you been denying me access?'

Rupprecht's chamberlain, Leopold von Fecklenburg, sighs wearily. 'Sir, I have been denying you access because the prince is not ready to receive you. And when I say that he is not ready to receive you, I say that, not to delay or inconvenience you, but rather to save your sanity and faith in human nature'.

'What is our prince doing in there, then?' says the officer. 'And how can you think that it is more important than these despatches, straight from the battlefield?'
'It is lunch time', replies Fecklenburg. 'Which in any other part of Europe would be no occasion to fear for one's marbles. But this the the Palatinate of Saukopf-Bachscuttel, and there is activity related to that room that no mortal may gaze upon unscathed'.

'He's not Morris dancing, is he?' asks the courier.

'No', says Fecklenburg. 'The pope has expressly forbidden that. But it's worse. So much worse that you are like to go instantly blind upon entering'.

'I could keep my eyes shut'.

'Mere eyelids alone will be no sufficient protection'.

'Well, I could walk in backwards'.

'That won't help with the smell'.

'The smell?'

'Yes, the smell. Although the word "smell" is wholly insufficient to describe the suffocating miasma of noxious smothering fug that you will encounter if I let you into that chamber too early'.

'It can't be that bad. I mean, I've visited Portsmouth. I could just hold my nose'.

'Not enough, I fear', says the chamberlain shaking his head. 'The residual reek will cause your nose to commit suicide and fall off'.

'But what could the prince be doing that would cause such luncheon trauma to an urgent visitor such as myself?'

'It is not just lunch. The prince is ... embracing the principle of just-in-time logistics'.

The courier nods. 'Well, excellent. Our military supply service is ....'.
'No, no - when I use the phrase "just-in-time logistics", what I mean is that he is eating pies whilst sitting on his commode'.

The courier pauses in horror. 'Is there a ... practical purpose to such a pursuit?'
'I suppose it is a form of ... time and motion study'.

'Time and motion?'

'Yes, Prince Rupprecht claims that it makes him more efficient. On the principle, he argues, of "one in, one out"'. Fecklenburg checks his pocket watch. 'But, well, it might now be safe. The prince had stopped laying siege to his commode by late morning'.

'Two hours ago?'

'No, late morning last Thursday'.

'That's quite a long time ago'.

'Which is exactly what the last visitor said'.

'The last visitor?'

'Yes. It took almost an hour to talk his nose off the ledge'.

'Perhaps I should leave and come back in a few years time ...'

'No, sir, perhaps it is now about time for you to enter. For the prince will be keen to see you'.

'Will he?'

'Yes, of course. Your news of the latest battle will provide yet more information for his keen mind to devise, after long hours of exhaustive study, the perfect grand design to enable our state to triumph in this clash of strategies'.

'Really?'

'No, of course not. He'll fall asleep; and then, when he wakes, he'll have you executed for bringing him bad news'.

'I really think that I might want to come back later - perhaps in a decade or two, after he has died'.

'No, no - in you go. I mean, what's the worst that could happen ...'