RADCLIFFE LUNATIC ASYLUM
D r. Tom Truckle was gorging on his favorite mock turtle soup when the phone rang.
“Director of the Radcliffe Lunatic Asylum.” He leaned back in his chair, trying to sound as authoritative as possible.
“The Queen of England sent us a patient,” Waltraud said. She sounded terrified.
“The Queen of who?” He dropped his spoon.
“England! Your queen, Doctor,” Waltraud said. “My queen, too.”
“A patient?” He wasn’t quite comprehending the conversation. “Send him in immediately!”
“But of course.”
“Waltraud! Wait!” Tom stood up. “Send the patient to the VIP ward with the best room possible.”
“I thought so.”
“And Waltraud, is it a male or a female?”
Waltraud waited for a while. “It’s hard to tell, Doctor.”
“What nonsense is that, Waltraud?”
“I would ask the patient, but I don’t think this patient talks.”
“It’s mute?”
“Mute is someone who once talked—or is supposed to talk.”
“You’re really not making any sense, Waltraud.” Tom sighed, fed up with his employee’s stupidity. “What is the patient’s problem?”
“It refuses to get its head chopped off,” Waltraud said. “The Queen demands the patient to obey her.”
Dr. Tom pushed the button on his desk to check on the surveillance cameras. He spotted Waltraud standing in the hall next to a flamingo in a cage.
Previously, he’d always thought it was only the Pillar and Alice who wanted to make fun of him. Now the Queen of England, too?
He swallowed a handful of his pills, without water, and said, “A royal flamingo.” He hissed to himself. “Waltraud. Tell the Queen I will take care of the situation myself.”
“I will.” Waltraud waved at the camera. “And she left you an invitation, too, Doctor.”
“Invitation? From the Queen herself. What’s it about?”
“It says an invitation to ‘The Event’ on the envelope.”
“Bring it to me immediately.”