For once, the chatter of Mr. Punch, the resentment of Scaramouche, the nagging of Guignol and the other voices which usually weighed heavily in Julian’s ears (real or imagined) were silent and he was able to focus entirely on the regal figure which told him gently, “You may rise.”
“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” Julian began.
The figure raised one gloved hand and interrupted Julian. “Ask only what is necessary.”
“This, Your Majesty, seems to be a necessary question.” Julian replied.
“You wish to know how I am able to stand before you now?” The man smiled, his words thick with the molasses of a German accent.
“I do.” Julian nodded meekly.
“I am, as you might say, imaginary. I am a creature of your memory, and your expectations, come to offer you what I may because you require it. Any authority or status you assign me is of your own design for I am not really here.”
“I see.” Julian said, drawing in a sharp breath. “Since you are not real, what shall I call you, Your Majesty?”
“Albert.” He smiled. “Or Prince Albert. Whatever you wish.”
“You’ll forgive my impertinence, then,” Julian continued. “If I speak plainly.”
“There’s no impertinence,” Prince Albert frowned. “Your Grace, you are speaking to yourself. You may not wish to recognize it, but you are.”
“I’m not a well man,” Julian sighed.
“You’re more well than you realize.” Prince Albert chuckled. “You are given to fits of emotion. This is something I understand, you know. Recall, if you will, Your Grace, the moments we spent together at Balmoral or at the Palace. Did I not bellow and sigh just as you do? Was I not as entranced by the sparkle of the diamonds as you? Was I not as enthralled by the fire of the rubies. Do you recall how I shared—even briefly—memories of my brother, Ernest, and how I told you that I longed for his companionship—that deep oneness of understanding that he and I once shared and that, for a moment, the way we talked reminded me of the conversations that I wished I could have with him?”
“I do.”
“Though embarrassed, were you not comforted by the thought? You who have, until recently, had the companionship of no one, and certainly no familial connection?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, you answer your own question. I come to you as a source of comfort—a vision of your own creation to guide you.” Prince Albert responded.
“Guide me through what?”
“You must ask?” The prince frowned.
“Why then, did I imagine you and not Naasir or Robert?” Julian asked.
“You can answer that yourself.”
“I suppose I don’t wish to trouble Robert.” Julian sniffed. “Any further than I already have, I imagine. You know, I didn’t trust him at first.”
“I know. And now?” The Prince squinted.
“Now, I do. Wholly.”
“Yet, you feel guilt that you’ve led him to such confusion.”
“I do.”
“And what of Naasir?”
“Naasir was very loyal. He died for me, you know.”
“Of course, I know.” The Prince snapped.
“Yes, of course.” Julian nodded. “Yet, what he said often troubled me so. All of his talk of what was meant to be and his premonitions. I could never really accept them. Isn’t that sad and curious? A man who gave his own life for me, and yet, I don’t know that I trusted him fully.”
“The things Naasir said made no sense to you. You? A man who is occupied by so many others. A man who, for many weeks now, has allowed his body and mind to be controlled by the phantom figure of a puppet—another creature of your own making?”
“I suppose none of it makes much sense.” Julian sighed.
“In its way, it does.” Prince Albert shook his head. “Perhaps, Your Grace, you ask too much.”
“Perhaps.” Julian answered nervously, twisting the imaginary ring on his phantom index finger. “You say you’ve come to guide me. Through what?”
“More questions. You’re asking yourself more questions. Don’t you know?” The prince snapped.
“We’re in a spot of trouble again.” Julian replied, flustered.
“I should say so. Mr. Punch is frenzied and powerless. You’ve given control to Scaramouche. Not wise, Your Grace, not wise. Your friends and family are in peril. And, yet, you’re in here with an imaginary prince.”
“You make it sound ridiculous.” Julian scowled.
“Isn’t it?” The Prince replied disgustedly. “You yourself know the enormity of what’s ahead of you. And, yet, you’re unwilling to face it. Are you a coward?”
“I am not.”
“Aren’t you? How many times have the minds that you created within yourself tried to push you forward? How many times have you resisted?”
“I’ve…” Julian began. “I’ve tried to move forward. I have, earnestly. Why do you think I’ve given my life over to Mr. Punch? It’s Punch who now occupies the body predominately. It’s Punch who is living. It is Mr. Punch who eats and sleeps and feels and laughs.”
“And feels love?”
“Certainly.”
“Are you able to love, Julian?”
“I don’t know.” Julian shook his head.
“Do you love the dog?”
“The dog? Toby?” Julian sputtered. “Yes. Very much.”
And, the infant? Colin. Your nephew?”
“I adore him.” Julian responded.
“And Fuller, Cecil and Adrienne?”
“Of course,” Julian replied, beginning to anger.
“And Marjani and Columbia?”
“I do.”
“What of Robert?”
“Yes,” Julian whispered.
“What of yourself?”
Julian didn’t answer.
“What of yourself? Julian, the Duke of Fallbridge?”
“I suppose I must.”
“You must or you do?” Prince Albert shouted.
“I don’t know.”
“Perhaps, then, you’re not ready for my guidance.” Albert answered. “Farewell.”
“Wait!” Julian called out. “Your Majesty, please wait. I’m ready.”
“Then, follow me.” Prince Albert smiled.
“Where?”
“Backward, Your Grace. In order to go forward, we must first go back.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-342? If so, you can read them here.
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