A few kids were warming up their horses, an equal number of girls and boys cantering up and down the straight length of track in front of the grandstand. Others were trying to form up in a line at one end. Some of them looked steadier in their saddles than others. A couple of the horses were already out of control, their riders yelling at them to hold still, and kicking them uselessly with their heels. One girl’s horse had taken off and was galloping madly round the track in the wrong direction.

A ragged little band of musicians was playing tunes, on trumpets and trombones, drums and cymbals, anything that could make a loud noise. It reminded Ed of the band that used to play at England matches, blaring out ‘Rule Britannia’, ‘The Dam Busters’ and ‘The Great Escape’.

Right now the Ascot band was playing the national anthem because the Mad King was coming out on to the track, being pulled along on a little wagon by four kids. Another kid, a little scary-looking, was riding at their side. He had a shaved head and a blank face and made a point of not looking at anyone. The King was wearing a little plastic crown on his massive head, a child’s toy, and had a cloak draped round his shoulders. He was happy, grinning and laughing. Ed didn’t know what to think. Was he being presented as a freak, a figure of fun? Or was he having the time of his life?

Maybe both.

In front of the wagon strutted Arno Fletcher, with a long staff in his hand.

‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen,’ he called out, and miraculously all the kids in the grandstand grew quiet. ‘Welcome to the fifth New Ascot Race Meeting, which promises to be the biggest and best ever. Just you wait and see! So give it up for the Mad King himself, King Nutjob the Thirty-first!’

The grandstand erupted.

The races were getting under way.

Chapter 55

55

Once the whooping and cheering and stamping had died down Arno raised his staff for silence again and walked over to the King.

‘And now a word from our sponsors,’ he shouted. ‘From the host of this world-famous event. Tell us, Your Majesty, how doth it hang?’

The King turned to the crowds, his mouth lopsided, and he wailed at them, a jumble of vowels and no consonants, more like an animal howling than human speech.

‘He says you are all very welcome,’ Arno shouted. ‘Even if you are a bunch of useless, scum-sucking delinquents and special-needs cases.’

Kids laughed and stamped their feet.

‘And please place your bets with the royal bookies.’

Boys and girls were making their way through the grandstand, taking bets off the kids, while down on the track the King was bellowing at the crowd. Once again Arno stepped up to translate.