28. NAPOLEON’S DICK.

‘It has to be said,’ Professor Delphi, ‘that you, G Mower are the best candidate for the job. It’s as simple as that. Indeed, your competitors for the position didn’t even run you close.’

Glen felt elevated by Delphi’s strong endorsement. The man oozed intelligence, class and clout. Nobody could but be flattered by his rhetoric when the sum of its parts painted such a glowing picture. Although, beneath the bubble lurked a devil with a pin ready to burst the constructed pride to create a mess from which he wondered if he would ever be able to extricate himself. He had no idea what his heroic role in saving the world would entail. But like undigested, blanched veg he could feel it in the pit of his stomach and wanted it to go away.

‘Historians to a man, or woman, love their subject,’ the Professor explained met with almost unanimous nods around the table. The only abstainer, along with Mower himself, being General Colman P Wilmington III, head of the Hologram Defense Program, who simply growled his disapproval. ‘History is akin to the Mona Lisa. It is perfection. To change a single brushstroke would be anathema to them.’

‘That’s a good analogy,’ piped Willard Dunsten, Head of The Observation Corps, that included The Statue Watchers from his seat near Delphi at the top of the table.

‘They simply would not cope with meddling with history. It would go against the very essence of what had drawn them with such passion to the subject. They would not be suitable. But having read your biography of Napoleon, Mister Mower, I can categorically state that you exhibited none of the traits resident in all other Historians, that being an unequivocal love of your subject. You displayed no guilt, whatsoever, in distorting or even conflating events to suit your agenda. That being to produce a work of entertainment that didn’t let facts spoil the narrative.’

‘There are even Hollywood producers who display more guilt for messing with history than this guy,’ Willard Dunsten chirped in again. Mower rather wished he would just can it and return to overseeing those who watched statues. His biography of Napoleon surely hadn’t taken that many liberties. He had included the correct dates for his birth and death for instance.

‘That bit about Napoleon’s dick,’ Professor Delphi justifiably recalled, ‘yes, it was sold at auction after his death. But there was no fifty percent reduction in the sale price, as you stated, because he’d had erectile dysfunction problems after Josephine’s death.’

‘Just send in the Goddam holograms,’ the General hollered again, stamping his fist on the table. ‘Don’t rely on this clown.’

Glen tried to match his adversary’s glare but lost on a TKO. He guessed the reason for his animosity was due to the holograms and figured he was going to be put in charge of the defense program in an overhaul.

‘Observe and learn how we deal with the holograms in tackling the Florence Nightingale threat,’ Professor Delphi advised. Then, the attention of those at the table was drawn to a flurry of activity alongside them as the women with paddles slid and prodded their models along the history board. A runner in a navy blue uniform then appeared from one of the adjacent rooms with a report he handed straight to Willard Dunsten before standing to attention. The Head of the Observation Corps digested it like the barely cooked veg Mower still felt in the pit of his stomach before handing it to Professor Delphi. The smile on his face instantly evaporated.

‘It’s from the Statue Watchers,’ he announced. ‘Boudicca’s statue in Westminster. Her two daughters have disappeared in the chariot Boudicca is driving and been replaced by two bags of road salt. As we have feared, someone has got it into Boudicca not to be the Queen of the Ancient Brits, but to be Queen of the Ancient Grits instead.’

For the first time, General Colman P Wilmington III looked happy.

‘I had sure as Hell better prepare some holograms,’ he announced. ‘We ain’t got the time to get Clowny McClownface up to speed.’