The queue was huge. The waiting time to see him was five hours at least, but no one seemed to be put off by this. Many had brought their own instruments to see if he could perform the same magic on them. He couldn't, of course. He could only blow butterflies out of his own trombone.
He had shot to fame not quite from nowhere - he was already well known in many quarters as the engineer who designed The Palace. Now he became a national celebrity. More than that - a national hero.
When the hurricane arrived, no one asked questions. No one looked his way. The nation came out onto the streets and mourned the dead, mourned The Prince. The Prince, crushed by his own collapsing roof, never to succeed to the throne.
No one suspected a thing.
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