Barker and Lambert, despite their friendship with Quinn, often found his persistent ability to see humor in serious situations both befuddling and potentially hazardous. On one particular afternoon, their walk turned whimsical in Quinn's mind as he envisioned the buttons on their coats as eyes of a dragon, forever cementing the image of his friends as mythical creatures in his imagination. Such flights of fantasy, however, were not in vogue by the close of the twentieth century.

The End of Imagination

By the century's end, the world prided itself on its systematic order. Smaller nations vanished, while Great Britain emerged as the largest and most organized. The monarchy no longer passed from parent to child; instead, kingship was a matter of chance, decided by lot, under the belief that anyone could potentially rule well. Parliament had become an antiquated memory of when governance was a laborious affair. Reflecting these changes, society adopted uniform, somber attire, and the notions of armies and warfare became nearly obsolete.

An Unexpected Encounter

During their walk, Quinn and his companions were taken aback by the sight of a distinguished gentleman clad in a vibrant green military uniform, laden with numerous badges of honor. This figure drew considerable attention, for resplendent attire had become a rarity. The man, once the president of Nicaragua—the last of the small states to succumb to conquest—seemed affable yet melancholic. His staunch belief in the individuality of states and people marked him as an old-fashioned thinker. Despite their attempts to reason with him, his inability to reconcile with the modern world led him to end his life.

Quinn's Coronation

Quinn continued to regale his friends with his whimsical tales, though their meanings often slipped past Barker and Lambert, testing their patience. In frustration, they challenged Quinn to stand on his head, expecting him to decline. To their amazement, he obliged, drawing the curiosity of passersby just as the police arrived. Expecting reprimand, apologies were quickly offered, but the police instead brought astonishing news: Quinn had been chosen as king. Barker loudly objected, claiming that a jester was unfit to rule Britain. Unfazed, Quinn embraced his new role and dubbed himself King Auberon.

A Revolutionary Idea

While out walking, King Auberon was whimsically struck by a young boy wielding a wooden sword. Instead of punishing the child, Auberon rewarded him with a coin, praising the boy's chivalrous demeanor. This encounter sparked a novel idea in the king's mind—one that promised to infuse vibrant life into the dreariness of London.

Resurgence of the Old Cities

Auberon presented his imaginative plan to a historical society, proposing the restoration of London’s districts to their former city-state statuses. Under this scheme, regions like North Kensington, South Kensington, and Notting Hill would appoint a provost as their chief officials, who would don medieval splendor and be accompanied by guards brandishing halberds. Initially, the proposal met with disbelief, yet the people indulged their whimsical king. One provost voiced concern over the practicality of the guards, noting the inconvenience on crowded buses.

The Unyielding Provost

A decade later, the king’s whimsical decree remained in effect. One day, Mr. Buck, a linen draper and Provost of North Kensington, approached the king with grave concerns. A new highway required land from Notting Hill, but its provost refused to sell. Other provosts joined Buck, complaining that the Notting Hill provost took his role far too seriously. In his mischievous spirit, King Auberon supported Notting Hill’s autonomy. The determined provost who defied them was none other than Adam Wayne, the same boy who once challenged the king with a wooden sword.

Adam Wayne's...