Act III

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fill! A Parliament of Owls (6/?)

[anonymous]

"Is the Prime Minister aware that the government still has no chancellor? Is it because we still have no budget? In fact, has any effort been made to find the right honorable George Osborne?"

Behind David, the benches erupted.

"Order! Order! One question at a time," Bercow said mildly. He sounded amused, sitting in his green armchair but the House was silent. George would like that, David thought, when his name would evoke such silence from others. He always became flustered if anyone spoke when he was trying to speak.

But George was missing. The worst suspicions had gradually all fallen on him. BBC had caught him at a party speaking to Mandelson- a scene immortalized by a series of increasingly lurid political cartoons: you can't blame him for the floods, perhaps, but certainly the economy, for he cavorts with the Dark Prince. In a way, David hoped that George was on the holiday he deserved before the world locked down on Britain. Mandelson's presence could only be an unfortunate coincidence.

For all the criticism of the Conservatives as an "Old Boy" party, they do stand behind their own. If George returned now, they would still support him, regardless, though the entire Opposition Party brands him as traitor.

In the last report he received, against all expectation the water level seemed to have stabilized in all the cities and some even showed sighs of receding: Edinburgh, Newcastle upon Tyne, Scunthorpe, Bristol, Plymouth, Norwich, Peterborough and Bournemouth. It seemed that Britain would not become a series of islands after all.

He could open with that, David thought. Then, afterwards, he would need to somehow maneuver all the health ministers into a room. It should be provide enough matters for the parliament to focus. Pantomime was not his forte and he really didn't like Penelope. If only Nick Clegg would return, there would be no test and no question. They hadn't spent long enough for that, yet.

-=-=

"I've come back," Said the voice, "I keep my promises." It was a jibe at something. Never mind.

"How long have I been here?"

"Six months, give or take."

"How did I get here?"

"I bought you."

"Bought me?!" George couldn't keep the outrage out of his voice.

"You would have died there. The people who kept you before, they didn't like you much, did they?" George fell silent. It was true. They beat and starved him, called him "Tory boy" and made him say things. But he swallowed it all; promising himself revenge.

"And the people before that? They didn't know what to do with you other than to keep you silent. The doctor was surprised that you didn't die from the excessive dose of oxalate crystals, but breeding will tell. You are from a hardy stock, Gideon."

"George." George reminded the voice again.

"But I'm nice to you, Gideon. I give you food, I keep you clean. You have a bed and you have me. Have I ever treated you without courtesy? You cost me a country but it grieves me to see you maltreated. You deserve many things, and perhaps a spot of pain, Gideon. But who doesn't? Those curs were being entirely excessive."

George took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, growing uncomfortable and regretting his request, "I am in a prison. Where am I?"

"The Irish Sea, I think. Navigation is not an ability I cultivate, but I hear your good friend, the current Prime Minister, David Cameron, is very good with cultivation. A man with a green thumb; he cultivate his gardens, his friends. You, Boris, and Nick Clegg. It brings us back to today's topic, where is this Eden, undetectable by radar. And don't lie to me, boy."

"I can't tell you, I signed a secrecy act. It would brand me a traitor." George confessed. He couldn't. And whatever people say about him, he couldn't tell the location to a man who could imprison him on a ship and buy him with the price of a country, or something,

"Another invitation-only club is it? You're good with obtaining invitations. Very well, strip."

Not for the first time in his life, George cursed his inability to keep silent.

-=-=