“Oh! Sir Tiberius took a tremendous blow, Spyke! He has been unhorsied. That landing took a lot out of the noble Knight and he is a little dazed.”
“Yeah, Icks, but by the looks of him, I’d say that Sir Gunther has his blood up to a fevered pitch. He has been fighting all day, and his bloodlust grows with every bout. I think he hungers for a kill and means to get it at Sir Tiberius’s expense.”
“Quarter, Sir Gunther.”
“No, fight me, Tiberius!”
“You have me beat, Sir Gunther, I, Tiberius, yield to you.”
“I hunger to fight! I hunger to kill! Mmph, very well, then, I will spare your life, Tiberius, baughtte let it be known to any who thirst for real combat, I shall give it. From this time forward, my bouts are to the death.”
“Gunther is a big sissy, y’all!”
“Roar! Who said that?”
“It was Ichabod! I heard him. He even said ‘y’all’!”
“That’s a big fat fib, Mr. Merlin and you know it! That was you doing a bad imitation of my voice in a ridiculous falsetto voice while everyone’s attention was on Sir Gunther!”
“Me? That is outrageous! You should be ashamed for even considering that I would stoop to such a cheap trick!”
“Rarr! I demand satisfaction! The offending party must be slain at once!”
“Hey, don’t look at me, Sir Gunther, with murder bolting out of your terrible peepers, it wasn’t me, it was Mr. Merlin!”
“I heard thee sayeth, ‘y’all’. This is enough to seal thy fate, boy. You, the man who art Ichabod, must die! I demand an executioner be summoned at once!”
“Nay, Sir Gunther, I, your King, am interceding. It is by my word that I proclaim this man’s right to face you in honourable duel.”
“Hunh, but Mr. King Arthur, sir, I ain’t done nothing!”
“Your honour has been besmirched. I grant thee the privilege of a high born citizen. Ichabod, you may defend thy honour! I bestow the honour of facing Sir Gunther in a public jousting duel upon you!”
“But I really don’t care nothing about no besmirchment...
“There, there, Ichabod, no need to thank me. Your noble nature grants you this honour and privilege.”
“But...”
“Baughtte your Highness, the cur is of low lineage. Though I crave to slay this dog with all my being, it offends me to think of doing so in noble combat. It is beneath me to do battle with an undeserving knave such as this, ‘Ichabod’.”
“Yeah! See? I ain’t worthy of this honour!”
“Sir Gunther, I acknowledge your concerns. Therefore, I proclaim that you go on a short Holy Grail Quest. While you are Grailing, we shall see if we can’t come up with an adventure for this young rapscallion, Ichabod. With any luck he will have survived whatever little task I set before him and we hope for him to develop enough character in this short interim that he is worthy of facing a noble gentleman such as yourself.”
“Hah! Thank you, my Liege! That is a brilliant idea!”
“But...”
“Well, of course, I am King, after all. Tremendous judgment in this sort of thing is a prerequisite for the position.”
“But Mr. King Arthur, sir, I don’t think I want to do no jousting, especially against a blood-thirsty monster like the noble Sir Gunther!”
“Nonsense, Ichabod, you will love jousting! Besides, if you survive your encounter with ‘The One-Man Legion’, the ‘Deutsch Destroyer’, the ‘LongBottom Leviathan,” Gunther GravenHurlle, you will have more adoring maidens than you will know what to do with!”
“But...”
“A word of wisdom from your King, Ichabod. Maidens love scars!”
Chapter 8
The Quest-Wench
We. Are.
The Knights.
Of Camelot.
Our Armour.
It Weighs.
Quite a Lot.
In Danger.
Our Lives.
Are very Fraughtte.
The Life.
Of a Knight.
Is highly Sought.
“Bring in the next case of judication!”
“Yes, Sire!”
“State thy case, old woman.”
“Forsooth, I am not an old woman but a young and fair maiden that languishes under an evil curse.”
“How didst thou come to be in this terrible state, my child?”
“A mean troll has placed me under an enchantment, my King. Only a brave Knight, strong and true, can lift this hex from me and my poor kingdom, for lo that we have many riches and treasures laid up in our castle and my father the king...”
“Your father the king! Then you are in reality not an old beggar woman as you appear, but a young, beautiful maiden princess?”
“Yes, King Arthur.”
“Fascinating, dear girl, prithee continue.”
“...my father the king will gladly pay massive tribute to the brave Knight that can free our land.”
“Treasure, you say, eh?”
“Yes, my king. Also, my hand in marriage should the knight be successful in lifting the bewitching enchantment that makes me appear old and frazzled.”
“Ah, this is a good and worthy quest. I deem that one of our lot shall be chosen to go slay this troll, lift the enchantment, and live happily ever after, married to a rich, young, beautiful princess. Anybody interested? What say you, Ichabod? This task seems as if it is fraughtte with enough danger that you may build the character and moral fibre needed to face a true man’s man in Sir Gunther.”
“Thanks, Mr. King Arthur, Sire, sir, but I got a little ol’ gal waiting for me thirteen hundred years from now. I think I need to be figuring a way to get back to her. That sounds like a real choice assignment, but I’m gonna take a pass.”
Lessons.
Of Steel.
Severely Taughtte.
Naughtte Read.
In Book.
Nor Cheaply Boughtte.
With Combat.
Giants Ogres.
Routinely Foughtte
It is naughtte easy.
To be a Knight.
Of Camelot.
“Bring forth the next case to be assessed by the court!”
“Yes, Sire!”
“State your case!”
. . .
“I hear no words. This goes a great distance in proving that you are, what you appear to be, that is, a medium sized shrubbery.”
. . .
“Really! That is fascinating! You say that a terrible warlock has taken over your beloved village back home, and if a brave Knight would only come and slay the terrible fellow, that the agent of liberation would be bestowed with a magic sword that never goes dull and can ghulienne fries.”
. . .
“You say the village is packed with beautiful, young, rich, damsel/maidens, all waiting and wanting to reward the lucky Knight chosen to execute this choicest of Knightly assignments?”
. . .
“Including yourself, pending transformation from boxwood form, naturally.”
“What do you say, Ichabod? This one looks pretty promising, eh, what?”
“Gee whiz, it sure is nice of you to offer me these cushy quests so that I can ready my body, strengthen my mind, and temper my will so that I will be worthy of facing Sir Gunther where I will surely be killed.”
“Tut, t’is nothing, dear boy. I am afraid that we have but one more case to deal with. I am afraid that it will not appeal to thee either, as it is similar in aspect as all the previous cases we have been through.”
~sigh~ “Thanks, Sire, I reckon let’s just go ahead and trot out the next questuratorer and we’ll be done with it.”
“Bring out the next case before King Arthur’s Court!”
“Yes, Sire!”
! ! ! “Hey, that girl looks just like...” ! ! !
“Shush! Quiet, Ichabod! Now then, state your case, my lovely child.”
“I sayeth, thank thee so much my exalted Liege. My name is
Tartt O’Plum, Miss Stephanie Tartt O’Plum. I am here to...”
“I’ll take the quest, Sire!”
“Be quiet, Ichabod, we have naughtte yet heard the particulars. Proceed, Stephanie.”
“My King beest too kind. Forsooth, thank you, King Arthur. Lo, I have traveled from afar to seek help in stopping a great evil. A three headed giant ogre hast fallen upon my home. There, thirteen beautiful young maidens languish under the cruel curse placed upon them by this wicked ogre. Truly, we desperately need the help of a brave and noble Knight to vanquish this foe and lift the veil of misery that blankets our village.”
Thou art a lovely quest wench my dear. Well, Ichabod, dost thou still have an interest in this quest?”
“Yessir, your Highness, Sire!”
“Thou art in luck, fair maiden. I have just the Knight to assist thee in your quest. Rise Ichabod.”
“I think I have risen.”
“I mean stand up.”
“I am standing.”
“Oh. This shall be your Quest Knight, Stephanie.”
“Oh, er, is this little fellow really a Knight, Sire?”
“Well, naughtte really...”
“Oh, but Sire, this quest requires the mettle of a fine and noble Knight. I question if this little fellow is worthy of the task. Surely you would prefer to send one of these other, fine, strong, big, handsome, smoldering, He-Knights, instead of this dun-coloured, peasant with gate agape.”
“Perhaps you’re right...”
“Oh, no, please let me have this quest! I’ll be a good Knight for you Miss Stepahanie, Ma’am!”
“I’m sure thou art a sweet young boy, and will someday make a very nice Knight for some equally bedraggled serf as yourself, in the meantime, let’s naughtte distract our King whilst he attempts to make a serious choice.”
“I don’t know, Stephanie, on the surface, Ichabod has all the nobility of a mud-puddle, but I would like to see him develop into a proper Knight that he may be worthy of being slain by Sir Gunther.”
“Oh, but Sire...”
“No, Stephanie, I have made my decision. Take this boy and make him into a a fitting Knight of my Round Table.”
~sigh~ “Yes, Sire.”
“Yippee! Thanks, Mr. King Arthur, sir! You won’t be sorry! I ain’t gonna let you down, sir, ner you neither, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am! Um, what was my quest again?”
“Thou shalt go forth and slay a giant three-headed ogre thus freeing thirteen maidens languishing under his oppression.”
“Oh, yeah, right.”
“Get thee to the armoury, and see if you can be fixed up in a junior set of armour that one of the real Knights has outgrown.”
From Fortune’s Catapult.
Ichabod.
Has been shaughtte.
He’ll surely die.
His Bones.
Begin to Rot.
In a Perilous Web.
The Boy.
Has been Caughtte.
Good-bye.
Would-Be Knight.
Of Camelot.
---
“Eee-yow-wow-wow! That there greave is pinching me in an overly familiar manner!”
“I sayeth, so it may appear to have inadvertently gathered yon manliness in a not so merry binding, m’lord?”
“I didn’t think they allowed ladies in the Knights’ changing areas, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am. I ain’t sure this is altogether appropriate, Ma’am.”
“Oh, I sayest, thou dost speak in such a humorous manner. Prithee, thy silly prattle doth vex me so. Wherefore naughtte wouldst I attend thee, making surety my champion be armed for mortal combats?”
“If you say so, Ma’am.”
~sigh~ “If it will put thee at ease, then just keep your eyes closed m’lord, and I won’t see a thing.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Um, a three-headed giant ogre with magic powers, hunh?”
“Aye, m’lord! T’is a great monster fitting for a Knight of King Arthur’s Round Table Knights methinks!”
“So where is this feller?”
“The stinking brute is laid up in his castle!”
“Where is that?”
“Upon his hill!”
“Where is that?”
“Under his castle!”
“Where is that?”
“Upon his hill!”
“Where is that?”
“Under his castle!”
“Where is-gulk!”
“Oh, my, didst I accidentally draw your breastplate too tight? I shall hurry to loosen it, m’lord.”
~gasp!~ “Erkle, Maybe I should ask, what is the area known as?”
“With the enchantment, the place has lost its name, m’lord.”
“It ain’t got no name! Well, for Heaven’s Sake, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am, can you at least show it to me on a map?”
“I sayeth, of course, m’lord.”
“Good.”
“Prithee, what is a ‘map’, m’lord?”
“Oop! I forgot, we ain’t got no maps, neither, hunh? How about you tell me what direction to go.”
“Direction, m’lord? Thou art strange of speech, this fact be true.”
“You can’t even give me a direction? North, South, East, West? How about just point and say he came from over yonder.”
“Surely the road dost turn in its winding course? Are there naughtte hills to go about? Art not meanderings to the roads? Might naughtte a path wander about a meadow as the traveler rests his weary head? There are trees, and brooks, and villages and castles and barns and...”
“Okay, okay!” ~sigh~ “I’m sorry Miss Stephanie, Ma’am, but I’m stumped. How do you expect me to go fulfill this quest for you, if you don’t tell me how to get there?”
“You silly little man, I will show you the way!”
. . . “hunh?” . . .
“Eh hem, I sayeth oh, Ichabod who art the man, art thou well? Thou seemest flushed of a sudden.”
“Hunh! You said my name!”
“Is this wrong, m’lord?”
“No! I mean, no Ma’am, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am! Wouldst thou sayeth, I mean say it again?”
“Verily, if it pleaseth m’lord methinks I can bring myself to utter the odd little name again, Ichabod, oh, Ichabod, who art the man.”
. . . “ooooooh.” . . .
“Ichabod, art thou well? You appear to be close to fainting.”
“Hunh? Oh, uh, I’m okay, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am, I just got a little light-headed for a moment. Hey, before you said my name you said something else...”
“My showing you the way to the ogre’s castle?”
“Yes, Ma’am, that was it. Do you mean to say that you and I will be together?”
“Prithee, of course, Ichabod who art the man.”
“Alone? Just the two of us? Without no chaperon?”
“Silly Ichabod, of course just the two of us. That is how it is done!”
“Merry!”
“Oh, Ichabod, though thou art the man, thou canst naughtte be of serious mind.”
“Aw, come, on Miss Stephanie Ma’am, I think this little beauty is a real hum-dinger! Don’t you like her?”
“Eh hem, and what does this contraption purport to be, eh hem?”
“Why, ain’t it obvious? She’s a steamer!”
“I pray upon thee to elaborate.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Beemer the Steamer is her name. She is an automated mobility carriage. She don’t even need a rail to ride on.”
“I am to address this monstrosity as ‘Beemer’?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Boiler
Engineer
Engendered
Mobility
Empowering
Roadster
“One sees, eh hem.”
“Of course when I was building her, I did not foresee having to drive her while wearing a hundred pounds in chain and plate armour.”
“I sayeth, you are presented with a challenge if thou art intending to alight in what appears
to be the operator’s station, eh hem?”
“Um, yes, Ma’am, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am. Say, you don’t think anyone would mind if I took on this little quest without actually wearing all this armour and such...”
“Eek! Speaketh naughtte these baleful words! Of course you must always wear your armour! How else is anyone to know thou art a Questing Knight if thou art naughtte bravely sallying forth in a suit of shining armour!”
“Well, I reckon if I gotta, I gotta.”
“You, must.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Um, let’s see, I’ll just try walking in this metal suit again toward the Beemer.”
clank. klinckety-clankclankclank, kink!
“Golly, this here suit looks mighty fine, but I don’t like wearing the awful thing worth a nickel! I can’t hardly see where I’m going in this dang pot-bellied hinged helmet and don’t know when to stop when I get there. Don’t let me scratch the steam-carriage, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am.”
“You are now beside the creation.”
“The boys in the shop have got her furnace hot and steam pressure is up. I reckon I better get around there and assist you to your seat.”
clank. klinckety-clankclankclank, kink!
“Thank you, Ichabod, who art the man.”
“Thank you, Miss Plumtartt, oops, I mean, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am. I will now walk back around to the chauffeur’s side.”
clank. klinckety-clankclankclank, kink!
“Now if I can just, uh, or maybe if I, unh. Hmm, perhaps if I, unh. No, that ain’t working.”
“I sayeth, art thou experiencing difficulty, oh, Ichabod who art the man, eh hem?”
“Um, yes, Ma’am. This dang old suit of armour don’t want to bend the right way. I can’t hardly get a steel shod foot into the auto-wagon.”
“I shall hither to thy side that I may lend what assistance I may, eh hem?”
“Oh, no, don’t do that, Ma’am, then I’d have to walk you back around and assist you in sitting down again!”
“Forsooth, t’is thee that requires assistance, oh Ichabod.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Be that as it may, I’d still prefer to do it on my own.”
“As thee wishes.”
“Watch out I don’t fall on you, Miss Stephanie! Unh! Okay, I reckon I can squirm into position from here.”
“Eh hem.”
“Alright, here we go! Yeppers, so far, so good, I ain’t runned nobody over yet. The gates of Camelot are down this aways me-reckons. Uh, oh, looks like they have the streets blocked off for a parade or something. I better find another way around.”
The Title of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 8) Page 6