The Young Dictator Read online

  The Young Dictator

  A NOVEL

  by

  Rhys Hughes

  Published by Pillar International Publishing Ltd.

  www.IndiePillar.com

  Cover design by Zoodle Design

  Copyright © 2013 Rhys Hughes

  All rights reserved

  This book

  is dedicated to

  the wonderful and beautiful

  DONNA KUMARI

  Contents:

  Jenny Khan

  Genghis Kan’t

  Caterpillar the Hun

  Owl Scared of the Dark

  The Cat That Chilled the Scene

  Moonmoths, Umbrellas and Oranges

  Glossary of Difficult Words

  Jenny Khan

  Jenny thought politics was rubbish. Lots of silly men kept knocking at her door, asking to talk to her mother or father. “They’re busy,” she told them firmly, which was true in a fibbing sort of way. Dad was upstairs making a model of Mum out of matchsticks and Mum was in the garden kissing the neighbour, Boris, who was a vegan.

  “Isn’t there anyone we can talk to?” the men persisted.

  “You can talk to the cat,” Jenny said.

  The silly men wore huge paper flowers on their coats, all different colours – blue, red, yellow! But apart from this, they looked the same. They didn’t want to talk to the cat, which sat on a chair looking out of the window and felt the same about them.

  Later, Dad came down and started washing the glue off his fingers. He had been working on his model for ten years. “Only another ten years to go!” he announced cheerfully.

  Jenny asked, “Why do silly men keep knocking at the door?”

  “Oh, they’re candidates for the forthcoming by-election,” Dad said, waving his arms. He went into the kitchen and started eating the cheese before mum finished with Boris.

  Jenny followed him. “What’s a by-election?”

  Dad spluttered crumbs down his shirt and said, “It’s when the people of the town choose a new person to speak for them in Parliament. The old one smoked cigarettes and died.”

  “But why do we need another one?”

  “That’s how the country is run. All the political parties want people to vote for them, so they knock on the doors of houses and make promises to grown-ups. If the grown-ups like the promises, they vote for that candidate. Then when the candidate wins, he or she makes sure those promises are broken thoroughly.”

  “Sounds daft to me,” said Jenny.

  “It’s complicated,” agreed Dad.

  “I bet I could make promises like those,” declared Jenny, after she had thought the matter over carefully.

  Dad chuckled. “Then you must put yourself forward as a candidate.” While he spoke, Mum came in from the garden and he was forced to hide the rest of the cheese in the teapot.

  “What’s this about?” Mum asked suspiciously.

  “I’m going to win the by-election and speak in Parliament,” Jenny cried. “I’ll make my own paper flower and paint it purple. And I’ll shout at everybody and nobody will be able to tell me off. And I’ll kick the Queen off her throne and put the cat in her place.”

  The cat twitched an ear but didn’t look up. For no good reason at all, his name was Chairman Meow.

  “It costs money to be a politician,” Mum warned. “You have to pay 500 pounds just to register your name.”

  “I’ll save my pocket money!” Jenny insisted.

  “The by-election is next week,” Dad pointed out, patting her head, “and you don’t even belong to a party.”

  “You’re far too young,” added Mum.

  Jenny huffed. She thought she looked grown-up enough, thank you, to wear a paper flower and knock on doors. And she wasn’t going to smoke cigarettes, so her rule would last for ages, at least until she had to go back to school after the summer holidays.

  “I’ll start my own party,” she said.

  “An independent!” cried Dad. “Well, that’s asking for trouble. You’ll only get two votes and then you’ll be ashamed and all the other candidates will laugh at you.”

  “I’m not going to vote for her!” exclaimed Mum.

  “One vote then,” corrected Dad, though Jenny guessed she couldn’t rely on his support either. She was surrounded everywhere by traitors. When she was in power, things would change!

  “Enough nonsense,” said Mum, “it’s time we went to see Gran. You’d better wash your face, Jenny.”

  Jenny grumbled and took her time climbing the stairs to the bathroom. Mum tapped her watch and shook her head. Then she turned to Dad. “Put the kettle on and make us a cup of tea, will you?”

  “If you absolutely insist,” said Dad.

  Jenny and her Mum walked down the lane to her Gran’s. They were going to deliver groceries, but Mum was in a bad mood. “That tea tasted like cheese!” she growled. Jenny decided to make complaining illegal when she won the election. She wondered what other things she could ban.

  Jenny was fond of her Gran because she lived in a small house without an upstairs and wore a woolly hat even in front of the fire. Gran listened to everything Jenny said and never made fun of her. While Mum unpacked the shopping bags, Gran winked at Jenny.

  Gran was so old she remembered a time before rain. “When I was your age,” she told Jenny, “the sun was always out, even in the night, and we slept in the day. We never washed.”

  Mum clucked her tongue. She didn’t believe some of Gran’s memories. Jenny told Gran about the by-election and asked if she would knit her a big purple flower. Gran said that she would.

  “When I go to Parliament,” said Jenny, “I’ll abolish clouds. And I’ll live on cakes and peanuts! And when I’m full, I’ll jump up and down until I’m sick and start eating again!”

  “We didn’t have jumping,” said Gran, “and sick wasn’t invented, but cakes were much bigger than they are now.”

  When Mum went into the kitchen, Gran put a finger to her lips and took Jenny to her comfy chair. She reached under a cushion and took out a wooden box. “If you’re going to become a politician, you’ll need some money. I’ve been saving this for a hundred years. Pay me back when you become Prime Minister.”

  “I won’t let you down,” promised Jenny.

  “I’m pleased to hear that,” said Gran, “because politicians generally don’t help old people, even when those old people are young. When I was your age I was forced to work as a pony in a coal mine and no politician came to my rescue. You must change the system!”

  “That’s exactly what I’ll do,” replied Jenny.

  Gran leaned closer and whispered, “Don’t forget to fight the powers that be. There’s a good girl.”

  “That be what?” asked Jenny.

  “That be in power,” explained Gran.

  Jenny frowned, but the answer seemed to make a strange sort of sense, so she didn’t ask for more details. She took the money out of the box and stuffed it in her pockets, just in time before Mum returned to see what she was doing and tell her off for it.

  Gran asked, “How’s your affair with Boris going?”

  “He’s a vegan,” said Mum, “and his breath smells of pineapple. I expected it to smell of soya.”

  “Oh dear. Better luck next time,” said Gran. She picked up her needles and started knitting furiously.

  “Did you ever have a secret lover?” Jenny asked.

  Gran nodded. “Yes, but only before the Geneva Convention. Back then, everything was secret, even the letters of the alphabet, and it was a legal requirement that nobody know anything at all. If one fact entered your mind you would be arrested.”

  “By the secret police?” wondered Jenny.

  “I don’t know, they refused
to say,” replied Gran.

  “What are you knitting?” frowned Mum.

  “Just an idol,” answered Gran.

  “No, it’s not. It looks like a rosette to me, a political badge!”

  “I assure you it’s a false god,” said Gran.

  “But what for?” snapped Mum.

  “To worship in a shrine I’ve constructed upstairs dedicated to the old pagan beliefs. That was the state religion when I was young. Such a bad state, it was an awful mess, it was!”

  “But you don’t have an upstairs!”

  Gran produced a withering stare. “Exactly!”

  Mum needed to use the toilet. She had a bladder infection of some kind but whether it was due to her infidelities was something that Jenny didn’t know for sure. While she was out of the way, Gran said, “It’s not really an idol, but a purple flower for your campaign. I’ll help you in any way I can, but we must be careful.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate your support,” said Jenny.

  “Here’s some advice,” said Gran furtively, “try to get hold of a book by Machiavelli. You won’t find it an easy read, because there are no pictures, but it may help you survive once you have gained power. I knew him personally, by the way. A charming man.”

  “I’ll get it from the library tomorrow,” said Jenny.

  “Rule with a firm hand,” added Gran.

  “I’ll do my best,” said Jenny.

  Gran looked serious and shook her head. “No, my girl. You must do your worst. That’s harder and better.”

  Jenny remembered this advice in the weeks that followed.

  On the morning of the Election Day there was an explosion in the house of Mr Zosimus, who lived on the other side of the street. His windows shattered and clouds of black smoke poured out.

  The Fire Brigade rushed to the scene but by the time they got there the fire had gone out. They used a hose and sprayed water in every direction anyway. It seemed a shame not to.

  The black smoke formed a mist that spread everywhere. Carrington was a town that rarely had mists, so this was a novelty, but Mum shook her head as she peeped through the curtains. “That Mr Zosimus! He’s a danger to the community and ought to be thrown out.”

  “Gran told me he’s an alky,” said Jenny.

  Dad nodded. “That sounds right.”

  Mum sneered. “How would Gran know? She doesn’t have to live near him. But he is a nuisance, that’s for sure!”

  Jenny finished getting dressed and looked in the mirror. She wore her most uncomfortable clothes, because politicians are meant to look boring. Only the purple flower made the outfit bearable.

  Mum frowned at her. “I don’t approve of this, you know. Allowing a twelve-year-old girl to stand for a by-election! I was shocked when they accepted your deposit.”

  “Five hundred pounds exactly!” announced Jenny.

  She glanced at the clock. Time to go.

  “Good luck,” called Dad as she left the house.

  Jenny smirked, but she knew he didn’t really want her to win. She stood on the pavement and blinked. The black mist hurt her eyes and she wheezed a little as she breathed.

  Mr Zosimus stood in his garden. He was sooty and crying and holding his face in his hands, but through the gaps in his fingers his eyes glinted.

  “Are you an alky?” Jenny asked him.

  He sobbed even louder, but she thought she saw the corners of his mouth turn up in a secret smile. It was none of her business, she decided. She had more important things to think about.

  She walked away, humming a tune.

  Jenny reached the Polling Station and a guard on the door held out his hand to stop her entering. “You are one of the candidates, so you’re not permitted inside,” he warned her.

  “But I must make sure the voters choose me!” she protested.

  “How are you planning to do that?”

  “I’ll stand next to them and point at my name on the voting sheet when they make their mark with a pencil,” said Jenny, “and if they make a mark in the wrong place, I’ll rub it out.”

  The other candidates were standing nearby. One of them approached and said, “You have to persuade voters to choose you, but you aren’t allowed to trick or bully them. Stand here with us and be polite to anyone who comes along today to vote.”

  Jenny curled her lip and waited outside.

  The day passed slowly. The black mist faded away bit by bit until it was all gone. Jenny looked at the rival candidates. There was an elderly man with a blue flower on his jacket, a fat man with a red flower, a young woman with a yellow flower on her blouse.

  People came along the street but nobody entered the Polling Station.

  “This is very strange!” exclaimed the man with the blue flower. “I’ve never known anything like it.”

  “Apathy is what it’s called,” said the red flower.

  “Nobody cares about the issues,” said the yellow flower.

  Then a church clock struck noon…

  Jenny wondered how much longer she would be able to put up with this situation. But it was important that she remain here. She was yawning loudly when Gran appeared.

  Instead of walking past, like everyone else, Gran stopped by the entrance to the Polling Station and started to enter it. Suddenly the three political candidates were all shouting at her, begging her to cast her vote for them. Jenny laughed quietly.

  Gran came out five minutes later and approached Jenny.

  “I voted for you,” she said.

  “Thanks for your loyalty!” replied Jenny.

  “Why don’t you come with me? I’m going to play Jingo with my friends at the pub. Jingo is like Bingo but uses imperialistic sentiments instead of numbers,” said Gran.

  “Learning a new game sounds quite nice,” replied Jenny, “but I must stay here to talk to voters.”

  “No one else will be along to vote, I promise. And the Polling Station doesn’t close until eight o’clock.”

  Jenny sighed. “Yes, that’s a long time away.”

  Gran said, “At eight the ballot box that holds the votes will be taken by a guard to Carrington Town Hall. The box will be opened and the votes will be carefully counted. Then the result will be announced. That will be at five minutes past eight.”

  “Won’t it take longer to count the votes?”

  Gran grinned. “Not this time.”

  “So provided I’m at the Town Hall by 8:05 PM I don’t need to do anything else?” asked Jenny happily.

  Gran nodded. “Leave these saps here.”

  The other candidates narrowed their eyes and clenched their fists, but they didn’t say anything. Jenny decided that ‘saps’ was an interesting old-fashioned insult. As she and Gran walked towards the pub, Jenny asked, “What happens if I do win?”

  “It’s certain that you will. My vote has decided the issue. You’ll have to go to Parliament in Westminster.”

  Jenny made a sour face. “I’ll be just an ordinary politician?”

  Gran shook her head. “Oh dear no! At the moment there’s a hung parliament. What that means is that no party has complete control of the government. Because you’ll be able to change your mind whenever you feel like it, you’ll hold the balance of power and be able to decide all the important decisions. Everybody will be pleasant to you and will try to be your friend. It should be a lot of fun!”

  “Great! I’m really looking forward to it!”

  Jenny would never forget the trip to London on the train. The morning after her victory, she packed her suitcase and said goodbye to Mum, Dad and Chairman Meow. Then Gran walked with her to the train station and waved at her when the train began moving and shouted, “Don’t forget it’s better to be feared than to be loved!”

  Jenny considered this advice but it was too early to have such serious thoughts. She chuckled to herself instead, remembering the shock of the rival candidates when the results of the vote were announced. The Town Hall was almost empty when the Lord Mayor climbed up on the stag
e and spoke slowly into the microphone.

  “Blue Party – nil… Red Party – nil… Yellow Party – nil… Purple Party – one! I therefore declare Jenny Khan to be the new official Member of Parliament for Carrington!”

  Mum and Dad seemed almost disappointed by the news. They didn’t act in the way they should have and Jenny realised she had been right to regard them as traitors. She guessed she would be surrounded by enemies in her new career and she told herself to be very careful and not to trust anyone, apart from Gran, of course.

  She tried reading the book by Machiavelli she had borrowed from the library, but it was extremely boring.

  When the train reached London, a man in a uniform greeted her and told her he was her personal driver and that if she needed anything, she ought to ask him. His name, he added, was Tubbs. Then he led her to a large black car and she sat in the back. He drove her to the Houses of Parliament and she went inside the building and took a look around.

  It was full of old men and women.

  “Ah, here she is at last!” boomed a loud voice.

  Suddenly she was surrounded by politicians who were smiling at her and bowing to her. They were all charming, but Jenny knew they only wanted her to help them achieve their own aims. They didn’t really care about her. They were false friends.

  “Miss Khan, such a pleasure to meet you!” said the loudest voice of all. It belonged to the Prime Minister.

  Apparently, on those occasions when there’s a hung parliament, the person who was Prime Minister before the parliament was hung gets to keep the job. But there’s not much power associated with it. The Prime Minister was a man with a smug chin.

  Together with the other politicians, he fussed around her for the next hour and she was very tired when Tubbs came to drive her to the hotel that had been booked for her. “It’s an early start tomorrow,” he said, “so I’ll be waiting outside and I’ll toot my horn at 6:30 AM.”

  “Why do I have to get up so early?” she asked.

  “You have to meet many people, including the Queen, all the foreign ambassadors, and the civil servants who will be working for you. And there’s a television interview and…”