Codex Transportica

(aka the Court Circular).

The final chapter in the chronicles of King Sprungtopf reveals the story of his Orb Royale – a giant riveted platinum-clad windowless sphere, into which he would often retreat during his ever-more-frequent bouts of madness. Fitted-out comfortably with a small gyroscopic travelling throne, toilet facilities and mini-bar, the king was able to spend hours on end safely ensconced in the darkness.

Solitude and sensory deprivation gave his Majesty a unique insight into the mind of his lowest, most deprived, insect subjects (or so he assumed). How better to learn the ways of the worm and the maggot than be blind and limbless. Indeed, the King had genuine empathy for the insects he ruled over – he simply saw no reason to extend this sentiment to humans.

Locomotion was provided by a specially trained beetle (Coleoptera Regillus Pilaperigitus – literally “pusher of the King’s balls”) bred for strength and stamina, and able to move the considerable weight of the Orb Royale with surprising aplomb. Note the elegantly dressed Scarabasseur whose principal role was to guide the beetle from place to place according to the king’s shouted instructions. Fear of horrific punishment ensured that the Scarabasseur never left his post for a moment, and it was actually this that led to a series of tragic events.

Secure in his orb, the king finally crossed the line into complete dementia. Hours inside the ball turned into days as his sanity unravelled, and outside the poor Scarabasseur degenerated correspondingly: unfed, unkempt and filthy, the beetle’s handler eventually collapsed and starved to death, leaving the King trapped within the orb as the determined little beetle, without direction, rolled him slowly toward, and finally into, the moat.

Thaddeus Braxton decreed that the ball remain in place under the water, where it can still be seen to this day – a final testament to King Sprungtopf’s mad times as ruler in the Court of Mystery, on the island of Saint Eustatius.