The Princess and the Cop (23 page)
She seized hold of me and said, shaking me, ‘Bart, darling. I got angry and said things I’m sorry for and I don’t want them hanging over us. You did nothing wrong, sweetheart. Understand? You did nothing wrong! Please don’t change in any way. Just be the delightful, loving idiot that you are. The gentle lover, the caring husband. Please, please Bart don’t let this change us?’
‘I think we proved that it hasn’t, in the past couple of hours. We’ll be ok, Princess.’
‘Now, sir, can we try for a baby again, please?’
‘I thought we just had been!’
‘No, that was recreation and reconciliation. This is business.’
And the honeymoon resumed. Number Three was it? Or Number Four?
****
This part of the story about Tessa and Bart, the Princess and the Cop, must be wrapped up. Too many untidy threads hanging off the end.
First, I searched out the guard whose lance I’d broken and who I’d technically assaulted by moving him and taking his key. This was in the sacking of the counsellors, remember? I shook his hand and apologised, paid him far too much for the lance, and asked when his shift finished. Fortuitously he finished in an hour. Then I sought out the guard who’d lent me his gear and lance in my colourful homecoming. He finished in two hours, but I gave him the last hour off. I looked for the stableman but he’d gone home.
I arranged to meet them at the inn and, when the village people found that I was among them again, returned from Oz, they crowded the place. My German was ordinary and the guards’ English was poor but the more beer we drank the more we understood. They were Hansie and Albert and I was sir. It was a good night and I rendered some old colonial songs while they sang Bassenburgian folk songs. We continued the good humour up the hill, over the cobblestones, to the Palace, and parted very affectionately. When I entered, there was my wife, seated on the low step of the Grand Staircase and ready to escort me to the bedchamber. Oops!
Mindful of the beer fumes I offered to sleep in my dungeon bedroom but the girl won my heart forever, if she hadn’t already. And she did it so neatly.
‘I think we promised for better or for worse, my darling. And I seem to have just won the worse part. If this is it, then I’m getting the better part of the bargain, considering what’s just happened between us, sending my husband away. Shower and come to bed.’
We later discussed all that had transpired. I did raise whether the guards were necessary but then was educated on that subject. They were honoured and well-paid positions and gave the place some class. A castle without guards? Get real, Barton! So I retired from any thoughts of changing things there. And I never went near change at the Palace again. Just sat back satisfied with the changes that had been wrought and approved by my tolerant bride, and enjoyed the greater amount of time I now had with her.
****
But the moment that I find her some spare time, she of the high IQ and the restless brain, seeks other things to do. She’d already been highly qualified in four languages and now set out to learn Arabic—‘the language of the future, or perhaps of the present’ she told me seriously.
So what could I do but intensify my learning of German, to become a fluent and competent partner? I was doing ok too, for a dumb ex-cop. A teacher of Arabic came across from Austria for a few days at a time to teach her but she took over the German instruction of her husband. She was lovely; so patient, a born teacher. But it was difficult because we caressed a lot.
Soon, I overheard the Arabic bloke telling her he could teach her no more. Her further instruction should be by reading—the Quran for preference. This all brought me back to my assignment in Brisbane to develop harmonious relations with the Muslims, so we discussed that.
Tessa was disturbed by what she read in the Quran and shared my private belief that there was little room for Christians and Muslims to reach compromise. But we had to try.
And then events overtook us and we both had mixed feelings.
Tess had been making arrangements for us to go to Australia for a time, with David standing in as regent. He’d changed quite a lot, now that we’d cleaned up the administration of the Principality.
He was almost anxious to relieve Tessa, which puzzled me. He’d relinquished the throne, remember?
And then all was revealed.
His wife, Eva, was expecting a baby, and should David be the ruler, the child would become first in line. If not, then not. It seems a sort of rivalry had developed but not on Tessa’s part. She was glowing.
‘Would you mind if I handed over the throne to David, darling? Since we’ve been married and reunited, all I want is to be with you and enjoy life with you. Especially now. I don’t want to be a ruler. We could move between here and Australia and really enjoy each other. Would you mind?’
Her green eyes were anxious. I held her and said, ‘Deep down, Tessadonna, it’s what I hoped would happen eventually but I was willing to be with you whatever came about. Let David have it. I think it might be just what he needs.’
David couldn’t believe his luck. Gerhardt and his Judge did all the necessaries and here we were, at another coronation, smaller this time because he’d already been crowned once and coronation ceremonies were beginning to lose their novelty value. Hardly anyone stood in the street to welcome the new ruler.
Gerhardt, totally out of order but with a new confidence from his marriage to Sophie, drew me aside and suggested that Tessa and I should return frequently. The Wilbadens were still around and David had nowhere near the affection of the people that Tess and I had. I never told Tess.
We’d been packing and when the coronation feast was completed, Gerhardt and Sophie drove us to Vienna airport and we were Australia-bound. She was excited.
‘Australia is the country I love, darling, but Bassenburg will always be my loved birthplace.’
Then she snuggled in, meaning she had some news for me. A baby? Nope!
‘I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of contacting Gloria Stenlake of the Department of Foreign Affairs. Do you remember her?’
Oh, yes, I thought. I well remember Glorious Gloria and that wonderful night of love. Before Tessadonna, of course! But how did Tessa know her?
I asked.
‘She’s Gloria Blackburn now. When I was wrenched back to Bassenburg, after the snakebite, she accompanied us, to ensure I was ok. We talked of you.’
Whoops, there!
‘We need to have something useful to do in Australia, darling, so I asked her if she had anything for us. She got quite excited. She can get you a position in the Federal Police, at inspector level, if you pass all the tests, and I can be a translator in their monitoring section where they hack into unfriendlies. We’ll be in the same building and we’ll nearly be together except when we’re on different shifts. I can put up with that, if you can. I know I wanted no more Policeman but I’d rather that than a bored husband. It’s what you are, and I’ve always known that. Now, handsome, what do you think?’ She sat back very satisfied with herself.
I had reservations. The way things with the Jihadists were developing I would rather have my wife well away from any likely conflict. But she should be safe in a translation section, deep in the heart of the Federal Police Headquarters, she said. And my job would carry some interest and, perhaps, some excitement. Yep! It all had possibilities.
‘You’ve done well, little princess. Sounds good and we have our apartment again near our work. Not too much separation, I hope. We still have work to do in the bedroom.’
‘Perhaps a little separation might be what we need, Poppa? I’m so glad you approve. I’ve worried about this, and about you. Now, we can settle into our new home. And our first holiday far out, deep in the bush, please?’
****
I passed all the tests ok and was assigned to community relations, which was exactly the same job as I’d been doing for the Queensland Police before. I was unimpressed but gave it my best shot. Tessa was thrilled with her new job, her first ever, translating, and at last putting her skills to work. The shift thing didn’t intrude much and, often, we took our lunch to the nearby parklands, and were close, even if for just 30 minutes or so.
Yeah! It was all ok.
I renewed acquaintance with the Imam Al Hariq with whom I’d had dealings before my departure for Bassenburg du Mont. He welcomed me back happily and we began our discussions about Islam and Christianity in Australia, and Brisbane in particular. I had a gun but was careful never to wear it near any of these talks. Sometimes I did, if another assignment was the next call, but it was well concealed, especially from Tess.
I told him that it bothered me that Islam seemed not to offer any concessions to Infidels. You either believed in the Prophet, that is, were converted, or you had no place in their world. There was no means of living in harmony. This was not only my thinking, it was Tessa’s too and it bothered her.
He said, ‘We do not threaten those who do not threaten us. You are a kafir but one who faces reality. The caliphate is going to take over Australia. I don’t want it to, but it’s going to happen and then there will be a big war. You keep watch and you expect us to behave in certain ways. But you, Inspector Corrigan, are given a gun to use against criminals and Muslims, not Christians….’
‘….I would use it against anyone who does wrong, if I have to, sir. But it’s rarely happened.’
‘How can we see it otherwise when you move against our youth who merely want to go overseas to help in the fight against their ISIS enemies, and others. They are threatened with prison if they try to return to the country of their birth. They have not done anything against the Australian people. I once had the same belief that your government now has, but no longer. Too many of our young men are being killed or imprisoned in this country and even moderates like me are changing our stance. You need big changes, my friend, for your laudable goals to be reached. I want to control our fiery ones but they are fast leaving our control.’
I said, ‘Would you know if there were a big danger—a bomber? Would you warn us? Even if it meant that he might have to be killed to save other lives?’
He thought for a very long time. ‘We have some among us and we watch them all the time, I think just as your Police are doing. I hope you are better than us, so we don’t have to betray them.’
The Imam and I parted on that indecisive note. Really, I’d got nowhere. But I had to keep trying. Oh, for a simple murder to work on!
One day, visiting him, I was confronted by an angry young Muslim who began to spout the philosophies of his religion, with burning eyes and a threatening demeanour. He hated the Federal Police and was almost in my face. I could feel his spittle landing. The Imam tried to intervene but Sarat Harim pushed him away. I moved to protect the old man and Sarat lifted a fist. These young Muslims seemed to be permanently near hysteria.
This was not the way to go, so I just stood, staring into his glaring bloodshot eyes, but ready. Then he suddenly turned and walked out to the back of the Mosque.
The Imam was shaken. He said, ‘There is the most dangerous of all. He was waiting for you. He is beyond control. He has nothing but hate in his soul. Beware of him. Keep your home address secret, do not let your wife walk out of your house alone and be so very careful when moving around your home area. He will kill you.’
Great! What had my darling got us into?
That night I told her of the event, trying not to frighten her, but my princess was made of stern stuff and showed no fear.
‘Can you get me a gun, sir knight? You have one. Why not me? I can shoot. You’ve seen me.’
‘A rifle, out in the bush at a fleeing dingo, and you missed. Forget it, Annie Oakley!’
She held me tight. ‘Ah! But you got Mr. Dingo.’
‘I won’t always be there, my sweet!’
But we were both careful and watchful around the house, me particularly so, because I knew what he looked like and I knew what to watch for.
****
I continued my tour of mosques and, I think, was making some friends and, perhaps, confidants. I was called into the resident psychiatrist at Police headquarters and warned about getting too friendly and then, perhaps, identifying with them. I assured him of my objectivity.
That raised two things---I was being watched, and I was settling amongst them, as was my brief.
The friendliest Mosque that I found was close to the Federal Police Headquarters. Perhaps that’s why it was friendly---right under the eye of the enemy. But I enjoyed my visits there, like today.
I’d had a pleasant time with the Imam and a few of the elders, drinking coffee, and was heading back to headquarters, peace in my heart.
My mobile phone rang and it was a distressed Al Hariq.
‘Stay away from your headquarters, Bart! Sarat is bombed up and has a Police uniform.’
He was very excited, hysterical. ‘He is suicide bomber to take lots of Federal Police with him. I can’t get through. Warn everyone and protect yourself. He crazy and unstoppable.’
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