Freax and Rejex. Robin Jarvis

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      “I hope the regrettable misunderstanding between our two countries will soon be resolved,” he said. “It must be very inconvenient for so many people.”

      “The ‘misunderstanding’, as you call it, will stay in place for as long as your book continues to pose ‘a clear and present danger’ to our citizens. Since our last meeting, there have been outbreaks of violence across Europe. In the cities where Dancing Jax is being translated there have so far been two murders, one suicide and a German publishing house was the scene of an all-out battle between the staff. Do you still insist this book is anything but a negative and destructive force?”

      “Change is always resisted,” the Ismus replied. “Every advancement mankind makes is met with suspicion and mistrust. Man’s first instinct is to smash what he fears and doesn’t understand. Luddites hatch faster than bluebottles, but their lifespan is just as brief.”

      Kate hadn’t come all this way to hear the same old tunes. With this latest report, she was determined to cut through the tinsel and tights of this unhealthy mania and expose the man behind it as the pernicious dictator he really was. She wanted to put the Holy Enchanter right at the top of America’s Most Wanted List. The American Ambassador and his staff had been recalled from London, but they too were under the book’s insidious spell. They, together with the passengers and crews of the planes she had mentioned, were currently being detained at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California and undergoing psychological testing. Last week in Illinois there had been a tragedy involving three families who had come into contact with just one smuggled copy of the book. There had been five separate incidents in other states.

      So far the President was dragging his feet over ‘the UK Issue’, as it had become known, and his procrastination was infuriating many. The Republicans were calling it a ‘Jaxis of Evil’. Kate intended her report to put even more pressure on him to finally initiate strong, maybe even military, action. She was going to provide irrefutable evidence that Dancing Jax was a weapon of mass mind destruction.

      She was aware the other news crews around her were shifting in their seats, casting hostile glances in her direction, but she took no notice and continued to goad the Ismus. If she could get that soft-soap façade to crack just a little…

      “So let me get this straight,” she said. “You’re rounding up all the minors who haven’t yet been brainwashed and bringing them here? Is that correct?”

      His face might have been made from marble. “Only those between the ages of seven and sixteen,” he explained. “Any younger would be unthinkable. We are not barbarians.”

      “And over the course of this weekend,” she carried on, “you’ll be hoping to work your voodoo on their impressionable minds? Isn’t that more than a little sinister?”

      The Ismus laughed at her. “It is no more sinister than one of your Renaissance Fairs!” he said. “But a hundred times more authentic and joyful – and with a greater purpose.”

      “So what happens after this jolly weekend? What happens to those kids who still haven’t found their way to your narrow idea of paradise? What will you do to them then? Have them put away?”

      “That is why the gentlefolk of the press are here,” he answered suavely. “To inform their audience to treat such individuals with compassion.”

      “That would certainly be a change from what I’ve heard…”

      “You will insist on listening to scurrilous rumours. I assure you, and the rest of the world, that my only desire is to repair any wrong or hurt that has befallen them and usher in a new age of kindness and consideration for those little ones who, through no fault of their own, are shut out. They are still a precious part of the Dawn Prince’s flock, remember – and our future after all.”

      Kate folded her arms. She wasn’t buying any of this snake oil.

      “Sounds like a blatant PR exercise in damage limitation to me,” she said. “It’s got ‘desperate stunt’ stamped all over it.”

      The Ismus’s eyes glittered at her.

      “Why don’t we go outside,” he suggested, “and see what delights we have planned, before the children arrive? I’m sure your readers and viewers would find it most fascinating. The world should see what merry times are to be had in this, united, kingdom. There is nothing for them to be afraid of.”

      He rose and his entourage moved with him to the doors. The crowd of press followed.

      Kate hung back with Sam.

      “I thought he was going to set his goons on you just now,” Sam said, lowering the camera. “Don’t push him too far, Kate.”

      “He may be a crazy-assed sociopath,” she replied, “but he’s not stupid. He needs to keep us sweet right now. His grand plan isn’t going as smooth as he expected. He’s more anxious than ever to show the world his warped vision of Merrie Olde England.”

      “I don’t get why he asked you back here in that case. You’re never going to give him a glowing testimonial.”

      The woman agreed. “Just remember what I told you,” she warned. “Eat and drink only what we brought with us. If someone offers you anything, don’t touch it, not even if it’s an unopened can of soda.”

      “Sure thing! Hey, do you think it’s true the Queen of England thinks she’s a miller’s wife and now bakes all the bread in Buckingham Palace?”

      “Nothing would surprise me any more. OK, let’s go out there and do our job.”

      The sun was finally attempting to break through the cheerless clouds and the spring flowers threw out their deepest colours. Four horses, arrayed in the pageantry of Mooncaster’s Royal Houses, were standing patiently by one of the cabins. A group of mummers were rehearsing and the narrow road outside the compound was already lined with cars and vans. Musicians and brightly dressed folk in the best replicas of Mooncaster apparel had arrived to make this an extra special celebration.

      Here and there, in the gathering crowd, snatches of song could be heard and toes were pointed as steps of courtly dances were practised and instruments were plucked, or strummed or blown into. One of the horses leaned forward and grazed idly on the cascading blooms of a hanging basket.

      With this in the background, Kate recorded an introductory segment to camera, explaining the farcical pantomime that was being put on today for the world to witness.

      It was another forty minutes before the first cheerfully painted coach came lumbering up the forest road. The Ismus and his tame press crews stepped forward to welcome the weekend’s special guests.

      “Here they are!” he declared, holding his arms wide. “Our lost and lonely lambs. What a time they shall have; what pleasures and adventures lie in store for them.”

      Pulling Sam through the crowd, Kate Kryzewski ploughed her way to the front and directed his lens up at the coach’s windows as it slowed to a stop.

      Dozens of young faces were pressed against the glass.

      “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Those poor kids. They look shell-shocked.”

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