An Island Inland

Vaultless Ambition

Of all the ways Lord Christoph Flooding thought he would begin his year, being surrounded by water with no escape was not one of them.

But that is exactly what happened when, after his housekeeper and drawn back the curtains, he looked out of the window to discover that the river Avon was much nearer to the house than he remembered… and wider.

At first, he tried to carry on as normal, but eventually he had no choice but to send his gardening staff back home until the river had subsided, not because of the flooding itself, but because he grew tired quickly of his head gardener singing sea shanties whilst rowing a boat.

“There’s no way of knowing when exactly it will be safe to vacate the premises, my lord,” Bert Stevens, Christoph’s loyal butler, said. “But I see no reason to believe this will last longer than a few days.”

“That’s fine, I need to be secluded,” Christoph said. “At least my critics won’t be able to reach me for a while.”

”There is, however, the possibility that the water will eventually enter the house,” Bert said.

Christoph sighed with resignation. He knew what that meant..

“So this is it, then,” Christoph said, “this is how we die.”

“No, no, my lord,” Bert reassured his boss, “I wasn’t thinking about potentially drowning, but the damage the flooding may cause to the priceless art collection.”

Christoph’s eyes widened.

He owned one of the largest private art collections in the country, a fact that angers many of his critics who despise his interest in fascism and his desire to bring it back into the mainstream.

“We need to plan a rescue mission, in case the worst arises.” Bert said.

“Very well, send them to Cumbria.” Christoph said, “create a raft using logs from the fire if you have to.”

“There is a high chance that Derwent Island is now completely submerged, my lord,” Bert said.

“Fine, send them to Mousehole,” Christoph said.

As the smallest property in his portfolio, Keigwin Manor in Cornwall was not the best place to store his art collection, but at least it wasn’t situated in the middle of a lake.

“We do not need to do anything yet, my lord,” Bert said. “This is just if the water starts to seep in.”

“It seems to be dangerously close to the house,” Christoph said, looking out of the window. “We could almost be in Venice.”

“Yes. But we have placed towels by the doors,” Bert said. “That should keep the deluge at bay.”

“Get them out of the house anyway,” Christoph said. “I feel like taking a Cornish excursion, anyway.”

“Very well, sir,” Bert said.

“But it needs to be discreet,” Christoph said. “I think at least some of them might be stolen property.”

For the next few hours, Christoph’s household staff were hard at work creating makeshift rafts big enough for both them and the art collection.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Christoph said.

“We’re very sure, sir,” Charlotte, Christoph’s housekeeper, said. “These ropes are as tight as can be.”

“Very well, keep up the good work,” Christoph said, before walking out of the room.

Christoph hoped that this would be a temporary measure, that normality would resume before the month was out.

He always thought of the possibility of his life being uprooted in dramatic circumstances or dying a similar way, but didn’t actually

want it to happen.

But even Christoph could deny that this was a flood of biblical proportions.

He wouldn’t be surprised if one final tsunami suddenly appeared and crushed the house and its contents completely.

But that wasn’t going to happen, not naturally anyway. The only British tsunami that’s predicted to happen is when the explosives inside that shipwreck off the coast of Kent are finally set off.

After a brief contemplation, Christoph was alerted of the raft’s completion.

“Are you sure this will take all our weight?” Christoph said.

”Yes,” Bert said. “But we discuss possibility sacrifices we can make if issues arise.”

Christoph counted upon that not happened. He didn’t particularly want to recreate the ending of Titanic, but if that had to happen, he hoped it would be done as callously as possible.

For the next few hours, all the priceless artworks and other artefacts were taken off the walls and placed on the rafts.

Eventually, once the oars were created, the makeshift rafts were placed onto the water, and Christoph and his household staff began their voyage to Cornwall.

“The entire country isn’t completely submerged in water, is it?” Christoph said.

”Not that I’m aware of, My Lord,” Bert said.

“So what are we going to do if we suddenly reach land?” Christoph said.

“Then we’ll find a generous driver with a trailer and hitch a ride to Mousehole,” Bert said.

“I’m bringing to think we might as well have stayed at the mansion,” Christoph said.

“That might have been less effort,” Bert said. “But at least this way we can be sure that the art is saved.”

Suddenly, right at the edge of Christoph’s estate, the raft ground to a halt. They had reached dry land.

Fortunately, Bert had parked the Rolls Royce across the road from the mansion, meaning that is was parked there, waiting for them.

“Shall we take the car, My Lord?” Bert said.

“I think that might be best,” Christoph said.

And so Christoph helped his staff tie the rafts to the car and hopped in.

But as soon as the car started moving, the artwork and other precious items flew off the rafts and onto the ground.

They had forgotten to tie them to the rafts.

The car ground to a halt, and Christoph and the rest of his household staff vacated the car to assess the damage.

”Right,” Christoph said, “I think we should just stay put and wait for the river to recede.

And so, after all their hard work, they put everything back into their rafts and sailed towards the house, ready to put everything back where they came from.