As I fell against the cart, someone noticed Alexander on the rail and ran to get him down; all that managed to do was startle him into losing his balance, and he fell over the edge. As the boy plummeted toward the street, the crowd fell silent, except for my exclamation about the IRA. Alexander landed, unharmed but a little stained, in the vegetables. The police swarmed to the cart and to me, the Hungarian vegetable vendor changed his ranting from anger to joy that his cart saved the young Prince, and he made sure that the bobbies knew that it was I who had the cunning to use the cart to save Alexander.

After congratulating me for saving the Prince’s life, the police began questioning me about why I shouted "the IRA."

"What’s all this, then? What does the IRA have to do with the Prince falling from the bridge? Did somebody push him off the rail?" they all asked, amid a million other questions. There was such a commotion now that I could hardly tell what was going on. I looked around in confusion and noticed that Monty was slowly inching his way into the crowd, away from me and the police.

"No, no," I said. "I was talking with my friend, Monty, here, who told me about the recent bombing in Ireland and I was asking him--"

They didn’t even let me finish my sentence before they had him in cuffs and led him off to the wagon. It was all very confusing, and I tried to explain what happened, but nobody would listen to me. I guess the CID has never been blamed for being intelligent.

So I was escorted off to some royal building or other and questioned heavily about whether I was involved in the IRA with Monty, who, it seemed, had, after several days of intense interrogation, made a full confession to both the bombing in Ireland and a plot to overthrow the monarchy.

Ten years, and I never had the first clue that my best friend was a terrorist!

Once they were satisfied that I had nothing to do with any terrorist activities, the boys from the Yard brought me before the Queen and Alexander. She regally offered me her deepest thanks, and said that the next day there would be a formal ceremony to thank me properly. I had no idea what I was in for, and I certainly wasn’t about to raise a fuss about it. I mean, the Queen! I was standing in the presence of the Queen of England and the future King! I bowed humbly many times, and the same men who brought me there dragged me off to the Windsor Grand Hotel, compliments of the Queen.

In the morning, tailors arrived with fine clothes and altered them to fit me, so that I would have something appropriate to wear to the ceremony.

"What ceremony?" I asked.

"Well, you are going to be knighted; I would think you’d want something suitable to wear other than... that," one of them said, pointing at my suit from the day before.

"Knighted?" I asked, barely able to utter the word from shock.

I didn’t even hear his reply, I was so dumbfounded. When the tailors finished, the Yard men returned and escorted me back to Buckingham Palace, where the Queen made a tribute to my clumsiness and ignorance.

"But you saw that on telly."

Stanley finished his story and leaned back in the couch.

"I would hardly call it a tribute to clumsiness and ignorance!" Dr. Middleton said. "It was a very touching ceremony."

"Well, that’s just the way I look at it. As I knelt before her and she had that sword in her hands, I thought she should just lop off my head with it."

Dr. Middleton laughed, "Isn’t that what Alexander tried to do with his plastic sword?"

"Yes. He’s a very smart lad."

"Hmmmph! The people love you! You’re a hero!"

"Yes, but if the people knew what happened, they’d laugh at me," Stanley snorted.

"But they don’t know. And who’s going to tell them? You?"

"No!"

"Well, then, you have nothing to worry about. Relax. Enjoy the attention."

"The attention!" Stanley groaned and put his head in his hands again.

"It’ll die down! Soon enough, the public will tire of the story, and you’ll fade away back into obscurity."

Stanley sat back up.

"Yes, yes, I suppose you’re right. I just don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the Sir, though. I like it, but it feels sort of… pompous. I’m not the kind of person that leaps to mind when someone hears the word knight."

Off in the distance, they heard church bells sound 4 o’clock.

"Well, I guess that concludes today’s session," Dr. Middleton said. He escorted Stanley to the front door. "See you next week!"

"But, what about--"

"Sorry, it's four o'clock... time for tea! I've got special company coming, if you know what I mean," Dr. Middleton winked. "Besides, Stanley, you've got to learn to deal with life on your own terms. I can't coddle you or you'll never learn. Now, get out there, face up to your destiny, and all that rot."

Dr. Middleton shut the door, leaving Stanley outside staring at the heavy wood door for several moments. Stanley sighed and sulked his way across the yard to his horse.

"Well, Lancelot," Stanley addressed his horse face-to-face, "it looks as though I'm on my own for this one." He paused. "Bugger." He paused again. "Still, it's not such a bad thing; I had my fantasies of being a Knight of the Round Table as a child, and here I am, a knight... rather more like Don Quixote than your namesake, it's true; but a knight, all the same."

As Stanley untied and mounted his horse, he envisioned himself in a suit of armor, his horse bedecked in flowing ribbons of silk. He sat up straight in the saddle and headed for his estate, laughing to himself as visions of battles with evil dragons filled his thoughts.