Children's Portions!

'Debauchery! Cannibalism! Dark satanic evil!' declares Minister Werner von Wormer, chief councillor to George, Emperor of all Fenwicks* (and soon, surely, also to be King of Gelderland as well).
'And then what happened at the Bachscuttel Christmas party?' asks Prince Joachim, the Emperor's son.

Wormer, the prince, and Emperor George are in one of the chambers of the palace in the Fenwickian capital Pogelswood. Though the purpose of this meeting has been to discuss solutions to the manpower crisis brought on in the army by the casualties suffered at the battle of Falkenhelle, lurid events in the Palatinate of Saukopf-Bachscuttel are always a topic of conversation.

'Yet worse excesses!' says the councillor. 'They ate Christmas puddings!'

'That English depravity!' thunders the emperor. 'What's wrong with a good German stollen?'

'"Eating puddings" sounds quite rude, father', declares the prince. In Fenwick, with its sensitivity to double entendre, the subject of desserts is second only to vegetables, and some rude fruits,+ as an innuendo bear trap.

'There's more ... they ... covered them with custard!' chokes Wormer. 'Custard covered puddings!'

'I'm not listening! I'm not listening!' says Joachin, covering his ears.

'Cease this flatulent blathering,' orders the emperor, 'for you are on the precipice of producing a prodigious pudding panic! We are here to discuss important matters of state!'

'Quite so, my lord - I apologise', says Wormer. Christmas was always a fraught time for a country in which even the discussion of stuffing was considered perilously suggestive.

'So', says the king, pointing, which he does a lot. 'Let us leave Pogelswood, and head post haste to inspect our new recruits. You say, councillor, that these new forces are of a high quality?'

'To be fair, sire, I think that I said in my report that they were of relatively high quality'.

'Relative to what?' says George, suspiciously.

'It's better if you see, sire'.

'This doesn't fill me with confidence. Very well, then. Fetch me my coach, and let us set off at once'.

The emperor points at Prince Joachim. 'But before we go, and I can't believe that as a forward-looking Enlightenment monarch I have to say this, you will have to deflate your codpiece'.

Joachim's methods of accessorising his attire have long been a sore point - if, that is, anyone in Fenwick could use the phrase 'sore point' in a groin-related context, which they can't.

The prince's latest accoutrement seems to be a kind of giant parti-coloured bag strapped to the front of his britches.

'Father, I wear this on behalf of my country! Like Isabella I of Castile, who vowed not to change her chemise until Granada was conquered, I shall wear this fashion accessory until you are King-Emperor over all of Mittelheim!'

'Part of me wants to ask why', says George to Wormer, 'but then that part gets apprehended, strapped down, and incapacitated by all of the other parts of me that really, really don't'.

Wormer looks more closely at the bag. 'It's not a Wurstburp thing is it? You know, a ... bagpipe?'

'I don't think so', says Joachim.

'Because I'm so not blowing into it', continues the councillor.

                                                                    xXx

Somewhat over an hour later, the three of them are at a training encampment for new recruits. King George doesn't look very happy.
'Does anyone else notice something about these recruits?' he asks.

'Alas, my lord', says Wormer, 'such was the scale of our losses that we have had to reduce the minimum age somewhat.

'Somewhat! Somewhat!' cries the king'. I can smell the talcum powder from here!'

'Well', says Joachim, trying to soothe his father, 'at least they look happy'.

'Of course they do!', fulminates George. 'Now they don't have to go to school!' The king turns to Wormer. 'And have you let them know about the brutal combat that lies ahead? The possibility of being scorched and maimed beyond the recognition of their own mothers?

Wormer shrugs. 'I thought I'd let them know about that after their first few battles'.

A hairy little drummer boy capers forward and, before anyone can stop him, he has stolen one of the king's boots.

'Gah!' cries George. 'And look! That miscreant drummer seems to be a little monkey!'

'He is a bit cheeky', says Joachim.

'No, I mean that he is an actual monkey. A little hairy primate'.

'Are you sure he isn't just from England?' queries the prince.

'What?'

'Because I once had an English girlfriend who looked like that'.

'Did she hang upside down from a flagpole and throw things at you?'

'No, no'.

'Well, then!'

'No, it was mainly doors rather than flagpoles. Does he like tea? Because the English like tea'.

'No. He doesn't like tea. What he likes is to steal one of my boots and then ... look! He's relieving himself in it!'

'Perhaps he's French?' says Joachim.

'He is, quite indisputably, a monkey!' shouts the king. 

Joachim shrugs. 'Interesting, father. Well, what sort?' 

'The sort that hangs upside down from a flag pole, throws bana ... I mean prescribed fruit, at me and then squeezes one out into my boot!'

George turns to Wormer.

'Councillor! You said these new troops were of a high quality! But they are just children! How can we defeat our enemies with material such as this?'

'I still maintain, sire' says Wormer defiantly, 'that these fellows are relatively better than most of the other troops in Mittelheim. I mean, they can at least dress themselves'. Wormer gives a placating gesture. 'Sire, our losses mean that we are in a bit of pickle'.

The king hops forward. 'This isn't just a pickle, Wormer; it's a full-blown apocalypse of gherkins!'

The three watch whilst a servant tries to retrieve the king's footwear. The little drummer, however, is as nimble as he is hairy, and also very capable of multi-tasking, as the boot continues to find out to its cost.

King George shakes his head. 'Wormer, we need more options than this ... nursery of nonesense. Let's see what solutions some professional military education might provide: summon Lady Timsbury of Steventon!'

Joachim snorts. 'I don't think she'll be able to grab the monkey, either'.

'For options!' hops George. 'Strategic options!' 

'Oh', says Joachim. As Wormer leaves, the prince notices something and bends down. 'Would you believe it', he says, lifting his codpiece, 'I think there might actually be a mouthpiece'.

* Though it's not clear if all of the other Fenwicks realise that George is now their suzerain. Given that the price of the postage is likely to outweigh the financial benefits of exercising his Imperial authority over the cadet branches of his realm, George has decided to wait before sending out sternly worded reminders.

+ Melons, obviously; and also bananas. The jury is still out on satsumas.