



He builds the realm a birthday parade of tanks and warplanes at the memorial steps, and the crowds come from far and wide. At nine the sky over the capital goes white, and the king says the only four words the night needs. Reports come out of the border pens, and his answer to the conditions there is a single flat sentence. The markets crest for the hundred-and-fourth time since he took the throne, and he counts every one of them.
Readers' Corner
Letters from the readership on Week 212. Pick a pen name — no account needed.
Opening the mailbag…