PRINCE ALBERT: Ah, Sir George. Absolutely wunderbah to see you again!
SIR GEORGE MacLEISH: Your Highness… (out of breath) ah… ah… you honour us with your presence… (wheeze) … yet again.
ALBERT: But my dear fellow, why are you so exhausted? Whatever have you been doing?
GEORGE: I’ve just finished… varnishing all the doors… and walls…
ALBERT: Oh that’s right.
GEORGE: With mistletoe oil.
ALBERT: I wondered what that smell was.
GEORGE: At your command.
ALBERT: And the wood carvings?
GEORGE: All done, your highness. Every door.
ALBERT: And the light chamber?
GEORGE: Installed in the observatory. It was right bugger getting that up the stairs.
ALBERT: But you’ve made sure it looks like…
GEORGE: Yes, your highness, it looks just like a telescope.
ALBERT: Very important that no one suspects its true purpose!
GEORGE: Only thing is… it only pivots along one arc.
GEORGE: Well, we’re trying to capture the light of the full moon, right? But with the scope of the thing fixed along one arc, we have to wait until the moon is in exactly the right space, and that will only happen at specific times. If the moon’s not in exactly the right place at exactly the right moment, we’re stuffed.
ALBERT: You worry too much, Sir George. Though your language is charmingly rustic!
GEORGE: The thing is, your highness, the whole plan’s a bit like that.
ALBERT: Brilliantly ingenious, you mean?
GEORGE: No, I mean dependent on dangerously unlikely coincidences. Take the diamond, for example. You’re busy getting it cut to exactly the right design to reflect and focus the moonlight.
ALBERT: And when I’m gone, the Queen will take it to Helier and Carew, the royal jewellers at Hazlehead. Every year! To be recut! I won’t bother telling her this of course, but she’s a remarkable woman, she’ll work it out.
GEORGE: But how will the jewellers know when to stop? Cut too much away and presumably the diamond won’t work.
ALBERT: Well… I will take them into my confidence and explain what we’re doing so they know what’s going on.
GEORGE: Me first, please. And anyway, giving the Queen a pilgrimage to Hazlehead via my house just puts her in jeopardy. Annually. Why not just tell her to stay away from the place?
ALBERT: But that’s the whole point, Sir George. We’re going to kill the beast with the Koh-i-noor and the Koh-i-noor is always with the Queen.
GEORGE: Thereby putting her at maximum risk. I don’t know why I’m worried, though, because it’s probably never going to happen.
ALBERT: I don’t see why not.
GEORGE: Think about it, your highness. For a start, the Queen has to be travelling to Hazlehead and plan to stop at my house on a night with a full moon. And not just any full moon, but one which traverses the arc covered by the light chamber disguised as a telescope. Then she’ll have to find her way into the library, to research the nature of the wolf, and deduce that she needs to lead it to the observatory and have the diamond with her.
ALBERT: I think that sounds perfectly plausible!
GEORGE: So then the Queen, the wolf and the diamond all have to be in the observatory at exactly the right time. The light chamber has to be pointing at exactly the right spot at the sky and at precisely the right moment, the Queen has to place the diamond on exactly the right spot on the floor, at the right orientation, to produce the deadly moonlight ray. Even then, the wolf has to be standing in exactly the right spot for the beam to hit it.
And here’s another thing: we don’t even know it’s going to work. We’re just assuming that concentrated moonlight is going to kill the creature. It’s completely untested and if it doesn’t work, you’ll have left the Queen in a room with a werewolf, with only a finely cut diamond and a pretend telescope with which to defend herself.
ALBERT: Well, I don’t see any alternative.
ALBERT: If we don’t do this, what other possible plan could there be?
ALBERT: Well, what?
GEORGE: We TELL someone, your highness! We tell the Queen, or the military or basically anyone so they know what we’re trying to do!
ALBERT: You dummkopf! No one would ever believe us.
GEORGE: You’re the Prince Consort, your highness. You could tell them we’re building a staircase to Mars and they’d have to do it.
ALBERT: Staircase to Mars, you say…
GEORGE: Your highness, please let’s focus on one thing at a time. Let’s tell someone what we’re doing. Someone with more weapons and resources and strategic skill than just the royal jewellers at Hazlehead. Or let’s tell the Queen, and she can order the army to do all this while she stays at home safe and sound. At least let’s write down our plan, so someone might one day find it and understand it…
ALBERT: Enough, Sir George! You worry too much. It will all come together in some pleasingly convenient way. No doubt, something will just drop out of the sky, and tie all these various elements into a coherent whole. The plan will work perfectly and the beast will be slain.
GEORGE: We could just go now, and find the wolf and…
ALBERT: Uh uh.
GEORGE: Or, we could put out some poisoned baits…
ALBERT: Now George, don’t worry about it. It will all be fine.
GEORGE: Sure. As long as clouds down obscure the moon at the crucial moment.
ALBERT: Forget the plan, you beautiful idiot! Haven’t you worked it out yet?
GEORGE: Worked what out?
ALBERT: All these late night conversations? All these trips to Scotland? It’s all a cover! An elaborate ruse so that we can be together!
GEORGE: It’s a what now?
ALBERT: Kiss me, you fool!
LINK TO 100,000 BC: Hairy beasts!
NEXT TIME: we embark on a Mission to the Unknown… and one other random episode to go with it.