The readers now had read the books, about the laws and how it went. They all wrote down the things they need, to open up the strait once more, they shuffled papers on the floor, then picked one up and read the needs of other folk, who saw things in a different way, from sideways or another day.
And then they voted, two by two, on every point they ever knew, and drew a brand-new treaty up, by its bootstraps on the foot, and wrote it down and signed their marks upon its seal, and there it was, a brand-new deal.
Then they waved it in the air, a scroll of parchment flailing there, to show the world a thing or two, to open up the Straits anew. To let the coracles and skiffs, the barges filled with useless gifts. The oil and gas to heat the chill, the petrol to push cars uphill.
They waved the treaty at the mines, that lay, but couldn’t pass, we’d wait all day. The mines were happy under sea. Who’d clear them up, well, not me. I’d surely cut the coloured wire and explosions that were not required, would burst out of the water there and disperse into the salty air. A massive cloud of vapour drops, full of krill and oily fish, of creatures from the depths below and old drink cans from long ago.
When the waves refused to budge, the mines all bobbed in search of prey, the powers that be decided then, to hire a safer pair of hands, to manage the task and part the seas.
Let us ask the King Canute, he knows a thing or two, about the sea and its little salty ways, the ways to wave the scroll and open up the straits once more, it was open once before, before the Despot threw his toys, out of the pram and on their heads, let’s not pretend, there were many dead.
King Canute came passing fine, with crown and throne upon the brine, y sea. I know I failed to stop the tide, but second time it works a charm, let me at it, I can open up the narrow sea. I’ve prayed to all the deities, and though reply there came there none, I do believe they’re on my side. So here we go, I’ll wave the scroll, and soon we’ll watch the great ships roll, along, passed with tolling bell to hear, the straits are open far and near.
He brought a special bottle up, from the cleaning liquids aisle. In black and red it said, ‘Do not drink or let the children play, with this, it will melt your bits away, to sludge, so just be careful when you pour, how much you need, and then pour more. If your waste or strait is blocked, use International Treaty Unblocking Liquid, if you buy two, the second bottle costs less, (This offer will not last forever).
They all watched upon the shore, Canute had tried this once before, the mines all gathered in a queue, to be replaced with something new, some jolly bouys to guide the way, out of the straight and on your way.
They waited whilst King Canute, searched in his pockets for his reading glass to check, the requisite time to leave the liquid in the block. Has anybody got a clock? He asked, Or, maybe an app upon their phone, I think I left my watch at home.
The waters first slowed down until the chemicals had done their thing, and burnt the blockage clear away, the tides all speeded up again and to this day they shall remain, as open as they were before the Despot bombed the country there.
Now sundry mines line up the banks, whilst the military sat in tanks, vats of freshly salted brine, sit in your own, you can’t have mine.
The buoys bobbed oh so happily, waving their lights for all to see, the ships now free to ply their way, carving up the waterway. If lesson was indeed relayed, it concerned the need of talking in the night, not brandishing a bomb that might, deliver nothing more, than destruction like before.
The Guardians of the Cave 