The crowd so pleased we'd arrived cause at the far end of the palace square, workmen were hammering the last nails in place on a big gallows made of fresh pine. From it dangled seven nooses—six regular ones for me and my crew, and a tiny one for Bob our rat. The delegation who’d met us at the beach marched us onto the thing. The crowd roared.
“I don’t suppose there’s any way we can negotiate?” I asked the leader as he fitted a noose over my head. His comrades were doing the same to mine.
“Your lives can only be spared by Royal Decree,” he replied. “However, our King reads your blog and you’re on his Top Five list of worst humans in the history of the planet.” The he turned to the guy at the base of the gallows and asked, “You ready, Philip?”
“Aye,” said Philip, a big guy wearing, of note, one of those black hangman hoods. Then he stepped up to a oar-sized lever and cracked his knuckles. The crowd went bananas.
Right, who is it? Who's the blackguard Monarch who reads Gus's thrilling yarns and thinks he's one of the "Top Five list of worst humans in the history of the planet?" Because whoever you are, Royalty or not, you shall never darken the door of this establishment. My tipple, Sir, shall ne'er slake Your tyrannical and highly extrajudicial thirst.
As a follower of the cult of Bulbus, surely you can recognize when someone is being unjustly accused and persecuted, let alone mercilessly hunted for their blubber and baleen (I speak metaphorically). If you had taken the time to examine the facts, you might have realized that the whale that et the family and arm of Gus was some kind of rogue vegetarian-turned-carnivore - perhaps even The Anti-Whale!
I pray that you put your ceti-ecclesiastical experts on the case - in the meantime, no quiet drinks with the hoi-polloi for you!
It has been rather a trying week what with things blowing up and romantic heartstrings plucked and left to fall silent, not to mention hopes repeatedly dashed on the rocks of the Sea Witch's Claws. In the meantime, we have been inundated with some rather colorful resume' thingys. I think I shall put nikola on that project; it's right up her alley... perhaps I should say it's more in her line of... er, it's her department.
I shall light yet another candle in church for Gus and his men; I expect the altar guild ladies will be hitting me up for a little extra dosh for the expense, so I'm taking a bit out of the till before I lock up for the night. This is in addition to other candles lit for other causes.
And I shall light a tiny, wee candle for Bob, the rat. I could not find a suitable verse for him (I pray it may not yet be his epitaph) but here is something about a mouse. It ends:
But, mousie, thou art not alane,
In proving foresight may be in vain,
The best laid schemes of mice and men,
Go oft astray,
And leave us nought but grief and pain,
To rend our day.
Still thou art blessed,
compared with me!
The present only touches thee,
But, oh, I backward cast my eye
On prospects drear,
And forward, though I cannot see,
I guess and fear.
Rather apt, that.
One more quote, from a rather famous diarist before the days of web-thingy diaries:
1 comment:
Actually, my thinking was along the lines of a potion that made the subject a better and a nicer person. Sort of like knock-out drops, but happier and slightly tiddly and "nicely thank you."
However, in the case of Conchian royalty, a sledgehammer might do the job more quickly and efficiently. Or perhaps a rum drink consisting of thinly sliced rum-infused limes wrapped around a large gold brick. I suppose it could be called a Royal Clewbrick.
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