The Murican flag appeared all over the Kingdom, in stomach-turning ubiquity, as if people were now proud of their country for inspiring enough hate and bile to provoke such a vicious attack. Grumbling about the King diminished, and for good reason; peace protesters had begun to be jailed for insufficient patriotism.

Martial law loomed. The witch hunt for conspirators justified every type of privacy invasion, and, generally, the Murican people stood still for it. After all, they lived in the freest country in the world, did they not?

Hadn’t the barefoot Towelheads driven a couple of dragons into the Pair of Pavilions because they hated freedom? Murica stood for bare heads and covered feet, but so free was this glorious land that you could wrap your head in a roll of Bounty if you chose.

Mr. Pink again appeared at the Beige Palace, and this time there was no delay in being admitted to the Elliptical Chambers. The insubordinate squire had been dispatched as part of the package deal with the Hash- fiends; enough bonus points had been accumulated for a free “accident.”

The King was in much better spirits. He got to be on the Magic Mirror nearly every night; what’s more, the people listened, and not just because they expected him to make mixed-up comments for them to laugh at. “So what’s next, Mr. Pink?”

Pink grinned evilly. “Well, Your Majesty, I’m glad to report that the Society’s stock holdings in flag manufacture companies has increased fourfold in value since the Pair of Pavilions went up in smoke. The economy’s a wreck, which is excellent, but we’ve made a killing. No pun intended.” He smiled ruefully. “The Guarantee of Rights isn’t worth the illegal paper it’s written on. Murica is finally becoming the police state the founding fathers intended. We’re poised for martial law at the slightest provocation.”

“Also, I think now is the time to get people used to the idea of canceling the next elections. Such an un-Murican institution, don’t you think?”

The King was nodding. “All those people saying bad things about the King, making him leave the Throne! Who the hell do they think they are? I’m the King.” Shrub the Second had bitter memories of Dad’s experience. If only they hadn’t had that pesky election…

Pink refrained from rolling his eyes and produced a scroll. “Ah, yes, of course. Now, here are your orders from the Society. Do exactly as we say, and we’ll let you come to our annual party in two, maybe three, years. Naked and blindfolded, of course, due to your low status, but it can be fun that way, too…”