text: “It has to be you.” The old man said in a harsh, subdued tone. “The King will remember you.” The meeting was held near the towns square. In the only barn that was not facing the main street. A single candle was lit, bathing the old wooden building in more shadows than light. Around the candle 5 men were crouching. The elders sat on crates so they did not have to put up the struggle of getting up from the straw covered ground again. Only Mad, the youngest men in the circle, sat there cross legged, arms folded and shaking his head. “No, no. I can’t!” his whisper as loud as a shout inside the barn. “It was ages ago! What if he gets angry at me for speaking up and throws me into the dungeon? What if they kill me right on the spot? I have a wife! I have children!” He looked at the old men, meeting everyone's eyes one after the other. A noise outside interrupted his plead for mercy. Stiff and full of fear the men did not dare to move, nor to speak. Mad held his hands above the flame, covering the low gleam of light and the room became dark again. Just as the rest of town. During these times no one was allowed to walk outside their homes in the little town called Sanitysville. People were banned from the streets, from the fields and from their taverns. Restrictions issued by the King himself forbid the townsfolk to linger, gather and meet. For their own protection and the protection of their kingdom. And like everywhere else, it was enforced by the men who has taken the Kings coin and became soldiers in his name. Through messages, baked in bread, a secret meeting between the town elders and the young man named Mad was held. The noise faded and Mad lifted his hands from the candle. The old men were all staring at him, still alarmed and half of terror. “Mad,” the eldest said. “If you don’t go, we will all die. Food is already low, almost empty. If folks don’t work there is nothing left. If folks don’t work there is no coin left to buy from the market in Halfswitsville. If people don’t get out of their houses soon, men will start beating their wives, wives will start killing their husbands and everyone else is just going loony. “Mad,” the old man was almost inaudible now. His defeated look only intensified in the flickering of the candle, “if you don’t go and convince the King to lift the Lockdown, we all will die. Your children, your wife and all other folk. The town needs you Mad.” The Lockdown was harsh and forced upon the whole Kingdom. The fields stood empty. The markets were closed and neither traders nor tinkers could be found on the roads. The only people allowed outside were the Kings soldiers and one representative from each town, who had to be chosen in advance, sent 10 days into solitary confinement and then travel along with the soldiers to the castle. There he was allowed 5 minutes of the Kings time. In the end Mad agreed to the elders proposal and went into the quarantine soldiers had set up just out of town. It was not more than a shed. Without a bed, a table and a chair. There was no window and the only light piercing through, were by cracks in the uneven wood. Twice a day he was given food, cold stew and stale bread. At first his stomach revolted yet settled after realizing that bad food was still better than none. He spent his time sitting in the corner opposite his bucket to shit into. With closed eyes he listened to the sounds of nature and low murmur of the soldiers passing by. He thought about his family and friends, wondering if he would ever see them again. In the nights he dreamed of the times they drank in the tavern. He would wake with the lingering taste of ale and wine on his tongue and smiled. These were good times. He missed the conversations with his wife and the jokes he used to trade with his neighbors. But here in quarantine Mad was not allowed to speak. Not a single word could be talked for the soldiers had the order to kill him without a warning nor a trial if he did. When they finally let him out he was weak of not having moved. He stank of not having washed and was desperate for human interaction. Even with the soldiers, whom he thought by now as prison guards. They were grim looking young men. By the way they talked, Mad guessed, they haven’t had any education. Yet they enjoyed their role and the power inherited by it. After a hard day of walking through the woods and over the plain land of the kingdom they arrived at the castle. “The guards inside take over, they will.” One of the soldiers he traveled with said. “If you come back, other guards take you back home, they will.” What did he mean with that? Did it often happen, that spokesman not return to their homes? Mad did not dare to speak up and ask. He did not even knew when he was allowed to speak at all. It was the first time that Mad entered the castle of the King. He followed the guards who led him inside and gazed around, fascinated and overwhelmed by the monumental size of everything he saw. The bare stone walls stood three man tall. From the ceiling hung chandeliers, its diameter larger than his outstretched arms. The floor was smooth, made of slabs large as men and maybe four times the weight. Inside the hall, where the King received the spokesmen of towns, red carpet covered the path to walk. It felt soft under Mads feet, as if walking barefoot on grass. The King sat on his high chair in the middle of the room, elevated from the rest of the hall. He was a man of middle age and round features. His beard was as black and bushy as a dogs fur. Yet he did not look bitter or mean. Mad had the feeling that is was worry that engulfed his features. To his left sat the Queen. Half asleep in her seat, bored and restless from the ordeals of being the first lady. To the Kings right sat Paranoos - his adviser. Rumor in town was, that it was his word the King followed and led him to the decision to forbid the interaction between folk. Mad just stood there, motionless. His eyes averted, looking at a particularly bleak spot on the floor. He did not know about the rules or how to behave, but not addressing the King before being ask sounded to him like a good start to survive this lunacy. “Speak, townsman.” The voice that rolled through the hall was dark and commanding. The King himself had spoken. “Your majesty,” Mad said, bending the knee and avoiding eye contact. “I...I am your humble servant.” “So you say, boy.” Mad could hear a question out of the Kings voice, but he didn’t dare to react. “What is the matter of you coming here?” “I...We...My...” Mad stammered without saying anything, then caught himself, “The elders of my town, Sanityville, your majesty, they sent me. I...they...we...we ask to be released.” With his eyes staring holes into the ground, he could not see the reaction of the King nor his wife or adviser. Yet, the following silence was enough to let his whole body shiver. He said the wrong thing. He was sure of it. “Tell me boy,” the Kings voice heated, “why would I end the Lockdown? Why would I end the only thing that keeps me safe? Keeps you save? Keeps us all save?” Mad didn’t know how to answer. Mad didn’t know what the King was talking about. Why would they be safe by not being allowed to leave their homes? But this wasn’t the time to be the ignorant farmer. He knew he only had this chance to speak up to the king and save his town from poverty and the upcoming starvation. “Your majesty, my King,” Mad said, “you always have been a benevolent ruler.” Mad risked a glance at the Kings face. He was still impassive and looked angry. “You cut the taxes when harvest was bad. You sent soldiers when bandits were looming the country. You build churches for the God fearing folk and offer the coin for men who wants to join the ranks of your army. “We, the town of Sanityville thank you for all that, your majesty.” The King seemed pleased with what he heard. He leaned back in his enormous chair and motioned Mad to continue. “My King, your folk is dying.” Mad said. “For months now the markets are closed. People can’t go to work and produce the goods which pays their food. The farmers cannot harvest their fields. Men go mad with wife and children at home, my King. Folks are not being made for staying in a cage. We need to be free! We need to go out and see! We need the taverns back! We need the brothels back!” “All you want is the Crown of the King!” Paranoos, the adviser shouted. “You want to spread the disease for the Crown and kill your King! You peasants, filthy and uneducated are not realizing that your majesty is saving your life and that of your townsfolk! And how do you thank him? With betrayal and threats?” Paranoos pointed a finger to the guard standing next to Mad. “Soldier, arrest this fool and hang him for treachery!” “HOLD!” the King boomed and stood up from his chair facing down on his adviser. “I am the King. I decide whom to hang!” Paranoos slouched in his seat and nodded dutiful. The King turned back to Mad. “What is your name, boy?” “Ma...ma...my name is Mad, your majesty.” “Mad...hmm...” The King mused. “Are you the one who saved my son from the boar?” The Queen asked, suddenly awoken from her daze. “I am, my Queen.” Mad sad, with a slow bow of his head. “Stand up.” The King commanded. He looked Mad over as if seeing him for the first time. “Why do you risk the talk of treachery, when you once have been bathed in the grace of your King?” “It is not my intend to betray my King. Nor have I intend for the Crown.” Mad looked at the Kings adviser with a frown. “I am merely telling your majesty what is going on in your countryside.” “You say you are not carrying the disease that is spreading through my kingdom?” The King asked. “I am not aware of having any disease, my King. I am healthy as I have ever been. So is the townsfolk.” “My adviser tells me, that the townsfolk in my kingdom is spreading the disease of the Crown. Are you suggesting that Paranoos is lying?” “No, no, my King!” Mad folded his hands and started praying under his breath. “But...how can I know of any disease? I am not a physician. But neither are your soldiers. And I don’t recall people have been treated by physicians in the past, my King.” Despite his trembling body and the sweat forming under his hair Mad’s blood froze under the King’s stern look. He thought about his children, watching them grow up. His wife who bloomed during pregnancy and always smiled when he got home from a hard day in the fields. The times were never easy, but they were better. Life was better. Without turning away from Mad the King said: “Paranoos, explain to him the disease for the Crown.” The adviser stood up and walked over to Mad, regaining his posture and sense of status. Looking down at Mad he spoke: “The lower folks, such as you, are infected. Infected with a disease that spread through the minds of the uneducated. It is contagious, a virus that have its seeds in the heads,” he tapped his temple with the index finger,, “and grows from there. Like a spark lighting fire it grows and consumes. Until there is not enough space left in those exhausted minds it stretches and reaches out for other minds. And when all and everyone are infected-” Paranoos left the sentence unfinished and just mimicked the outcome with his hands. “That is, when you start for the Crown.” Mad looked confused between Paranoos and the King. “I...I don’t understand. What spreads between the people? Is it like the pollen of flowers and trees? Or spores from the mushrooms?” “Ideas!” the King bellowerd. “Ideas are spreading between you and your fellow citizens. Ideas to take over my Crown!” Was that was it was all about? The King in his High Castle is afraid of being overturned by farmers? The simple thought of him sitting on the thrown and ruling the country was amusing and he fought the urge to start laughing. “My King, it is not my place to question your decision nor your the choice of advisers.” Mad avoided eye contact as he said it. But he knew he had to say something. The whole situation was beyond himself, but he was here and the only one who could save his town, his friends and family. “When I grew up, your grace, I was taught the laws to obey. I knew from when I was at young age that caught stealing you may loose your hand. Evading taxes may cost your freedom and that taking a life in anger or revenge is punished by death. I accept these rules, for they are wise. And not only me, but all of your kingdom benefits from it.” The King nodded in agreement and motioned Mad to go on. “I lend you the strength of my body and work to feed my family and pay your taxes. The artist lends you his creativity to fill your ears with music and view with art. The soldier lends you his life for fighting under your command. “The mind however, with all due respect my King, is not yours to command.” The silence that followed was danger lingering in the air. Like dark clouds forming to become thunderstorm. Lightning about to strike. The Kings face was a fury of emotions. How could a peasant of his dare to speak to him like that? He took a deep breath to let out his anger. But before he could speak, his wife the Queen interrupted. “Let him speak, my King. I want to know what more he has to say. After all, if the disease is only contagious among the uneducated, we have nothing to fear, have we?” Outraged Paranoos spoke up: “My King, we cannot allow this to happen! The mind of this boy is already corrupted and will--” “Silence!” The King boomed. “My wife has spoken and I honor her wishes.” With squinted eyes he said to Mad: “Continue.” Mad swallowed hard and tried to bring his breath back under control. After a few seconds he continued. “The minds of men are not to fear my grace. We are simple men, with simple needs and simple ambitions. We have neither aim nor intention to claim the crown of yours - and never had. To me, it looks like harder work than tending the fields, your grace. No offense.” “None taken.” The King said with the hint of a smirk. “Caging a man for wrongdoing is the right thing to do, but imprisoning the mind is worse than death. Men are made to be outside in the nature. Men are made to interact with men. We are connected, one to another. Ideas are meant to enlarge our society in wealth and purpose my grace. Ideas are the small steps humankind takes to become better, to improve and progress. Without ideas my grace, roads could not have been build. Without ideas, weapons could not have been built. Without ideas, food could not have been grown for all of us. “Ideas are spreading like wildfire, I agree. But it is not burning the thoughts of people and leaving ashes and a barren mind behind, unable to grow anything after. Ideas are the fertile ground of imagination. And without imagination even a fairytale story are just words strung together.” Mad looked his King in the eyes. “Is your grace really afraid of the ideas of simple men just like me, or put an educated mind this idea in your head?” The Queen stood up from the slumber position of her seat and walked over to Mad. She took both his hands in hers and leaned closer to whisper something in his ear. With the grace of a woman who is accustomed to power she then brushed by her husband and gave him a look, without saying a word. There was no need for talking anymore. It was said enough. The King nodded to his personal guard and gave him permission to act, like a performance studied and rehearsed a thousand times. As the King and his Queen sat back on their chairs, a man was taken in custody and never seen again. Later it was said, that the root of an idea lit himself on fire.