Section I, Next Section

Part 1

Posted Wednesday, 15-Jul-98

Author's Note: Well, this is a rather silly story based on "Monty Python and the Holy Grail", obviously. Now, I must admit here that in several places I did not change the dialogue and many times only tinkered it just because Monty Python themselves are masters of comedy, when I am not. Also, I admit in many places it is plain stupid--let me tell you, it's hard work parodying a parody! Well, I hope you like it--this story is dedicated in general to Monty Python the group for inspiring this drivel, but especially it is dedicated to Michael Palin because he is my favorite Python next to Eric Idle and Graham Chapman, who has joined the choir invisible but is still a funny person. I would also like to thank Spring for all the help she's given me, and also I'd like to thank Jimmy and Bill and Kat and everyone else who helped with their unconscious elves. ;) Also at this point, I would like to thank the men at Columbia Water and Light for providing the water for my inspirational showers, and I'd like to thank God for creating the water along with myself and chocolate. And for no apparent reason, I would like to thank Bob Dole. And another last thing--I would beg the Monty Python troupe not to sue my sorry butt because all I have is about $127.43 in the bank and while I have a nice collection of teddy bears and lots of crap, I don't think I have anything they'd want--no, wait. Sue me--then I could have the chance of meeting you in court! Yes, sue me right away! My email is provived specifically so you can sue me! Write me if you read this! And with this in mind, I hope you enjoy this story.

magine . . . a vast land of countryside, a land where lords and ladies are somewhat plentiful, and a chilly mist is always in the air to give the place a more romantic feel for the tourists . . . a land where there are many lakes of just the right temperature for swimming in, with not too many weeds at the bottom to make taking shots of people swimming underneath the water too messy . . . a land with fine and extensive grounds, the locals nice and inviting, always engaged in intelligent conversation and liking a good laugh more than anything. If you dare to imagine such a land, this would be Pemberley-the Republic of Pemberley, which has the good fortune of being the setting of this very volatile tale.

And if you really would like to get all imaginative on me, I would like to introduce you to the king of this noble and well-named land, King Darcy. He is a very noble and proud man who was the Most Eligible Bachelor of this land for many years, until the Lady above decided to give him a wife, Queen Elizabeth, who has the boast of having the finest eyes as well as the most silly relatives this side of Kellynch. In any case, he is now less proud and he still enjoys a good swim over dancing any day.

And if you have gone this far with me, you might as well imagine King Darcy's favorite Norwegian blue parrot . . .

"All right, stop this! This is far too silly!"

Well, uh, sir, hello! I was just writing here and I'm just talking about-

"Don't think that I don't know what you're about, girl! This has gotten too silly! It started off with a nice idea of imagining things, but now it's gotten silly! Darcy wouldn't have a Norwegian blue parrot in that day and age!"

But . . . but I really wanted to put in about the 'pining for the fjords'! It's so funny! Don't you find Michael Palin to be hilarious?

"Well yes, but let's continue along! Now, no one enjoys a good laugh more than I do, except perhaps for my wife and some of her friends. Oh, yes, and Captain Johnson. Come to think of it, most people enjoy a good laugh more than I do, but that's beside the point. Right! Let's get on with this story!"

All right . . .

At this point, we can stop the imagining and just read the story. Well, one day our noblest King Darcy was at his castle, Pemberley, when he was looking around his nice round table and he realized that this table needed to be filled. So, he decided that he needed to fill his table with some Knights-he'd call them "The Knights of the Round Table" and they would all be honourable and worthy, an example of goodness for the centuries to come, so they could also get lots of stories written about them. He liked the idea so much, he decided he'd immediately head out with his best friend/servant Bingley and they would hunt for the right sort of people to join his merry band.

On a particularly misty morning, he kissed his wife Elizabeth and put on his nicest clean suit, you know, the one with the green jacket, and headed out to meet Fate head on. Luckily for him, he did not meet Fate head on, because everyone knows if you meet Fate head on you get an extremely large bump in the middle of your forehead and some nasty red marks on your cheeks, because Fate takes it personally when people just bump into her, especially men. She's a feisty one, is Fate-she and her sister Lady Luck . . .

Well, in any case, after several days' long journey, the day came when the mist was all nice and particularly misty and he was due to find a castle. Then, after a few days' more journey, he finally went over a hill and found a castle. He called out to Bingley, who was operating the coconuts, "Whoa!" and after a few shaky beats the coconuts stopped, and the soldiers at the top of the castle were alerted to his presence.

They called out, "Who goes there?"

"It is I, Darcy, from the castle of Pemberley, in Derbyshire. I am King of the Pemberlians!"

"Really?"

"Yes, and this is my trusty friend and servant, Bingley. We've been riding for a while and I am in search of Knights who will join me at my court and become Knights of my Round Table. I must speak with your lord and master."

The men whispered among each other. "Have you ridden on a horse?"

Darcy looked at Bingley in such a way that Bingley could guess Darcy's thoughts that moment, although Darcy should imagine not. "Yes-obviously!"

The soldier called out, "But I swear, you have coconuts! You're beating the empty halves together!"

"Yes . . . so?"

"Well, where did you get them?"

"We found them a few days ago. Listen, we're a bit tired and we would like to-"

"What! In this place? You must be joking! The coconut is tropical!-to be found in places like the West Indies, although you do not call Bermuda or Bahama the West Indies; the coconut cannot be found in England!"

"Listen, what does this have to do with it?"

"Well, buddy, coconuts don't migrate!"

"Yes, but do not people travel? Our Navy goes all over the world, and one can obtain many rare delicacies in our land by the sea. Now, listen-"

"Listen, Navy men don't migrate! Besides, who would import coconuts?"

Darcy laughed. Obviously the man was an idiot, but he was curious to hear what the man would say. "What do you mean, Navy men don't migrate! They sail the seven seas all the time!"

"Well, yes, but you don't see them sailing all over the land! We're miles away from the sea-how could a boat travel all the way over here? Besides, dry land is not good for their legs."

Darcy sarcastically replied, "Well, how about they fly?"

The soldier seemed to consider this for a moment. "No, people can't fly. If a swallow needs to beat its wings forty-three times every second to maintain the proper air-speed velocity, then a human would have to do so much more! It's impossible to imagine it-especially for a man carrying who knows how many coconuts!"

Another soldier piped up to argue with his friend. "Well, it's not that impossible! Getting into the airstream, a man could glide along! Besides, there are many large birds that fly with ease, a man only needs to build some wings and it could be easy as pie!"

"And how practical is that? Having to fly all the way across the world in one trip, the man would be incredibly tired! And, the winds at high levels enough to reach the air stream would be far too fast-they would kill the man!"

"Well, couldn't he stop and rest? There IS land in other places, you know! If he mapped out his route carefully it would be an easy flight!"

As the two men continued to argue, Darcy sighed and signaled to Bingley that they should be moving along. And so, to the tune of the coconuts, they did.

Part 2

Posted Tuesday, 21-Jul-98

In the town of Hunsford, there is a grand house called Rosings Park where reside the de Bourghs, the head of the household being Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Another grand feature of this town was that there were lots of people dying in its surrounding-every Monday and Thursday the Cart Master Collins would come around to Rosings Park and on Tuesdays and Fridays he visited the village. He picked up the dead people because he was a parson and Lady Catherine commanded him to do it, and because she was so condescending as to order him around personally, he was more than happy on all occasions to take her orders.

That day was Monday, so he was walking around the environs of the grand house, calling out his cry: "Bring out your dead!" And so, he clanged his bell and cried, "Bring out your dead!"

"Bring out your dead!" *CLANG!*

"Bring out your dead!" *CLANG!*

"Bring out your dead!" *CLANG!*

A woman ran up from the kitchen, and tossed a woman into his cart.

"Ninepence," he said, and when the money was placed in his hand he went along.

"Bring out your dead!" *CLANG!*

Suddenly, out rang Miss Anne de Bourgh, the only child of Lady Catherine. She dragged along with her a large bag.

"Miss de Bough!" said the toady, literally scraping the ground at her feet. She ignored him.

"Here's one for you, Mr. Collins," she said gracefully, dropping the bag heavily into the cart.

"Ninepence," Collins calmly said, when he heard a groan from the bag.

"Anne! I must have my share in the conversation!" demanded the bag, and Collins gasped.

"Lady Catherine!" he cried as the bag opened itself and out popped his indomitable boss.

"I'm not dead yet, Anne!" she crowed.

"Uhh . . . Miss de Bourgh, her Ladyship is not dead."

Anne shook her head. "Yes, she is! Here's your ninepence!"

Lady Catherine vigorously shook her head. "I am not, daughter! I will not be interrupted!"

Anne turned to Collins. "She will be soon-she's very ill."

Lady Catherine said imperviously, "I am getting better!"

Anne shook her head and said just as imperviously, "No, you're not! You'll be stone dead in a moment! She turned to Collins. "She'll be pushing up the daisies in just a minute."

Collins shook his head. "Oh, I can't take her like that. It's against regulations."

Lady Catherine made to get up. "I will not go on the cart! Why, there is no shade, and this cart faces full east!-how inconvenient in the morning!"

"Oh, don't be such a baby," Anne said, disgusted, pushing her back down into the cart.

Collins shrugged his shoulders. "I am sorry, Miss de Bourgh, but I cannot take her. Besides, I would lose my job if I were to do that!"

Anne shook her head. "No, you won't. I will be your employer then, and to be sure, I will not fire you."

Collins thought about it for a moment.

"I feel quite at ease!" declared Lady Catherine, and Anne just groaned.

"Do me a favor, and croak over!"

"I will not! I am perfectly all right! I think I will go for a walk, I feel so good."

"You're not fooling anyone, you know," Anne called back to her mother. She turned shrewdly to Collins. "Look. Isn't there something you can do?"

Lady Catherine turned back to Anne. "You ought to know, daughter, I will not be trifled with! My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. This is not to be borne-I will not have my daughter prematurely bury me!" She then turned to Collins. "And you-how dare you even consider to defy me? I will fire you here this very instant-"

Suddenly, out of nowhere a shovel came and hit Lady Catherine on the head. *WHOP!*

Anne de Bourgh turned gratefully to Collins. "Thanks very much!"

Collins smiled. "Not at all. See you on Thursday."

"Right. All right," Anne agreed, and she turned around hearing a pair of coconuts clapped together. "Who's that, then?"

Collins' eyes were full of puzzlement, as usual. "I dunno. Must be a king."

Anne looked at him carefully. "Why would you say that?"

Collins shrugged, trying to think of a reason. "He hasn't got s---all over him."

Part 3

Posted on Thursday, 23-Jul-98

So, after passing through the land of Rosings, King Darcy headed along toward Mansfield Park. He soon happened upon a castle unknown to him and he decided to question an old woman on the side of the road about the area.

"Old woman!" he called out.

"Man!"

"Man! Sorry! Now, old man, what person lives in that castle over there!"

"I'm twenty!"

"What?"

"I'm twenty! I'm not that old!"

Darcy shrugged. "Well, I didn't think it would be that nice to just call you 'Man'."

The young man was the picture of indignation. "Well, you could call me 'Aaron', as my name is Aaron Moore."

"Well, I didn't know that you were called 'Aaron,' sorry."

Aaron was obviously a man with a grudge, as he spoke to Darcy with more than a bit of resentment. "Well, you didn't bother to find out, did you?"

Darcy sighed. "I did say 'Sorry' about the old woman thing, but from behind you looked like-"

Aaron, as Darcy quickly discovered, could be very righteous. "What I object to is that you automatically treat me like an inferior!"

Darcy started to get a bit offensive. "Well, I am King!"

Finally, Aaron found his proper soapbox. "Oh, King, right! And how did you get that, right? By exploiting the workers! By hanging on to outdated imperialist dogma that perpetuated the economic and social differences in our society! If there's ever going to be any progress in our society-"

A woman who was kneeling on the ground gathering dirt called to the young man, "Hey, Aaron, there's some lovely filth down here!" She looked up, and nodded to Darcy. "How do you do?"

Darcy graciously smiled. "How do you do, good woman? I am Darcy, King of the Pemberlians."

Kitty turned from the filth to look at her husband and the 'King'. "King of the who?"

"The Pemberlians."

She furrowed her brow. "Who are the Pemberlians?"

Darcy raised his eyebrow for a moment, then inwardly forgave the woman on account of her ignorance. "Well, we all are. We're all Pemberlians, and I am your King," he kindly explained.

She shrugged and turned back to Aaron as he bent down to join her. "I didn't know we had a king. I thought we were a republic."

Aaron shook his head, and forcefully replied. "You're fooling yourself. We're living a dictatorship: a self-preserving tyranny in which the working classes are-"

Kitty shook her head, obviously used to his words. "Oh, there you go again, bringing class into it."

He raised his hands and began to wave them in the air. "That's what it's all about, though! If only people would hear of-"

Darcy sighed, tired of listening to these babbling. "Please, please, good people. I am in haste! Who lives in that castle?"

Kitty shrugged. "No one lives there."

Darcy frowned, brow furrowed. "Then who is your lord?"

Kitty shrugged again. "We don't have a lord."

"What?" asked Darcy, shocked.

In came Aaron. "I told you! We're a democratic commonwealth, in the form of a commune. We take turns to act as a sort of executive official for the week . . ."

Darcy was not interested. "Yes," he said, trying to cut him off, to no avail.

". . . But all of the decisions have to be ratified at a special bi-weekly meeting . . ."

"Yes, I see!"

". . . By a two-thirds majority in the case of purely internal affairs . . ."

"Be quiet!"

". . . But by a four-fifths majority in the case of more major . . ."

"Be quiet! I order you to be quiet!"

Kitty took offense along with her husband. "Order, eh? Who do you think you are, buddy?"

"I am your King!" said Darcy, just as righteous as Aaron himself when talking about classes and oppression.

"Well, I didn't vote for you!"

Darcy would have rolled his eyes were he not so frustrated. "You don't vote for kings!"

"Then how did you become king?"

Darcy looked to the sky, with the most religious and pure of thoughts. When he related the tale, he could swear he heard the angels from about singing. "Megan, the Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering gold, held aloft a shirt from the bosom of the water, signifying by Divide Providence that I, Darcy, was to wear the wet shirt . . ."

He turned back to the two, who appeared unimpressed. "That is why I am your king!"

Aaron was practically laughing, shaking his head at such foolishness. How could the ancients have stood such nonsense? Our times are a little more enlightened than that! "Listen, strange women lying in ponds distributing shirts is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony!"

Darcy did not like this. "Be quiet!"

"You can't expect to wield supreme executive power just because some watery tart threw a shirt at you!"

"Shut up!"

"I mean, if I went around saying I was an emperor just because some moistened bint had tossed a piece of cloth at me, they'd put me away! Send me to Bedlam completely, which I think we should do with this outdated ideology and the people who uphold-"

"Shut up, will you? Shut up!" Darcy grabbed the young man and pushed him away from himself. This was the only other thing Aaron could have asked for.

"Ah, now we see the violence inherent in the system!"

"Shut up!"

"Ah! Hey, come and see the violence inherent in the system! Help, help, I'm being repressed!"

"Bloody peasant!" Darcy cried, walking back to Bingley, and signaling for him to start up the coconuts again.

As they left, Aaron just shook his head at them. "Oh, what a give-away! Did you hear that? Did you hear that, eh?" he asked his friends who had gathered round as Darcy was talking about his "Lady of the Lake". Aaron pointed at the receding figures. "That's what I'm on about. Did you see him repressing me? You saw it, didn't you?"

Part 4

Posted on Monday, 27-Jul-98

After all of this, Darcy was more than happy to head on to different climes. He was quite surprised to discover how odd his subjects were, but at this point he felt nothing could surprise him. And so, one day, as Bingley and he were traveling along, they followed the road to a small bridge, where a young man in a loose black tunic was talking with another man in black, who was attired quite oddly in a sort of black armor of such that Darcy had never seen. They both held polished metal cylinders, and the man in armor was talking with a wheeze in his voice.

"The Force is with you, young Churchill. But you are not a Jedi yet, boy."

"Ahh . . . Darth Vader. Well, you'll find I'm full of surprises!" The young man did something with his cylinder that caused a light blue rod to emerge from the small thing. Darcy was impressed with this young man who had the coolest weapon he had ever seen. The other man in black activated his cylinder and out from it emerged a red rod. They began to fight.

It was quite an interesting fight for Darcy. They parried and thrusted like in any normal battle, but the weapons made the fight even more fun, as when the rods would crash together they made the coolest sound-he began to suspect the colored rods were more like . . . energy fields? Whatever they are, thought Darcy, I want one!

Their swords crashed and smashed together as Churchill duplicated the sounds. After a while, Vader stopped.

"Ewan, how many times have I told you? Don't make the noises! The lightsabers make enough noise on their own!"

"Sorry about that!" Ewan/Churchill said, and the fight continued.

Churchill was a very showy fighter, doing lots of twists and spins and rocking that left Darcy seasick. After one graceful slide, Churchill called out to his opponent, "Let me see you just slide with me! Just slide with me!" Both men began to dance about, singing, "We're the Men in Black!" But then, after Vader made a few missteps in the dance, he cried out, "Aww, stop it!" and pulled out his lightsaber again, and the fight recommenced.

After a little more time, however, Vader looked over and saw Darcy waiting and watching. He suddenly stopped fighting and said to Churchill, "You know, everyone's always hated me. In any case, George Lucas will kill me for trying to spoil the plot to his movies, and I might as well pull a Kenobi and let you kill me so the story can continue and maybe people will like me more for a bold sacrifice."

Churchill shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat, Anakin. In any case, you're not too bad of a fighter and I am a bit young to play the Old Kenobi-I wasn't contracted for that, in any case." After some emphatic nodding on both sides, Vader raised up his saber and assumed as peaceful a look as his mask could assume, and Churchill sliced him through neatly with his usual style and panache.

Darcy came out, greatly impressed. "Wow-wee!" he said, clapping his hands appreciatively.

"Good fighting, sir!" Bingley congratulated Churchill, and as both clapped, the younger man bowed and blew kisses to his audience.

Darcy smiled. "You fight with the strength of many men, Churchill. I am Darcy, King of the Pemberlians," he said grandly. "I seek the finest and bravest knights in the land to join me in my court at Pemberley. You have proved yourself worthy . . . will you join me?"

Churchill sighed, and shook his head. "Trust me, Darcy, there's nothing I'd love better than to become a Knight of the Round Table and everything, but you see, George Lucas has me on a five year contract to play Obi-Wan Kenobi in his next three movies, you know, and my proverbial hands are tied! Do you know I'm breaking contract just appearing in this story? No, no-I like the job, and I just can't shove off. Sorry!" he said, profusely apologizing again.

Darcy just frowned sadly, not really understanding most of what the young man said, but understanding that it was a 'no'. "You make me sad, Churchill. So be it! Come, Bingley," he said, but Churchill blocked his way.

"I'm sorry again, bud, but I can't let you through. My script says 'None shall pass,' and that I must say to you. None shall pass."

"What?" Darcy asked.

"None shall pass!"

Darcy sighed. "Look, Churchill, Ewan, Kenobi, whoever you are-I have no quarrel with you, but I've got to cross this bridge! It's in MY script, see!" He pulled out a little book and showed it to Churchill. "See? I'm supposed to say, 'I have no quarrel with you, good Sir Knight, but I must cross this bridge!'"

Churchill shrugged. "Well, then I'm going to have to kill you." He smiled at Darcy. "Look, just to make this fair and everything, I won't use the Force!"

Suddenly, Bingley who was reading his copy of the script looked up, and said, "Hey! Darcy, old bean, take a look at this!" Darcy gave Churchill a look and went over, and read what Bingley pointed to.

"Yeah! You're right, Bingley! Now look here, Ewan! You're Frank Churchill in this story, not Kenobi, just like you said! Frank Churchill never had any Jedi powers or anything-he came from a universe that didn't even HAVE George Lucas!"

Frank sighed. "Hey, guys, listen. This isn't my story and I'm not writing all of this business! Ever since CK, Katt and Meesh started on with this 'Frank Churchill, Jedi Knight,' I've had everyone banging on my door wanting me do this! Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I like this blurring of my roles? No! but I'm doing it anyway!-it's all a bit zany, a bit madcap. Frankly, I don't fully understand it myself, but the kids seem to like it*, and besides it's not my business what this crazy author does! You'll have to talk to her if you want to change things."

"Yeah, let's!" Darcy cried, and turned to the author.

"Hey, Rachel!"

What, Darcy?

"What are you doing here, combining Churchill and Kenobi? You've got to stop it!"

No I don't, Darcy! It's my story and I can do whatever I want if I want to! I could turn you into a newt! Besides, if I stopped mixing stories, I'd have to give up the story altogether! You're not exactly King Darcy, are you?

"Well . . . no . . ."

See what I mean? Does it matter if I throw in the Jedi Knight after I've made you King Darcy a la Regency? You are such a stick in the mud! I should have made Knightley my King Darcy character-he'd be more than glad to chop up Frank Churchill, and I wouldn't have to put up with your whining! I've got him waiting . . . easiest thing I could do!

"No, NO! OK, OK, I'll go along with it . . ."

Darcy, you're a lot more sensible than I'd give you credit. Now let's continue this scene and cut to the fighting! 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . Ba-zang!

"Now listen, Churchill, as King of the Pemberlians I command you to push off!"

"Well, tough luck, Darcy, because I'm not going anywhere."

Darcy sighed, tired of being so harassed. "Well, then let's get it on!"

Suddenly, they were transported to a large auditorium with a screaming crowd around them. Everything was the same as any Deathmatch-women chasing the Colonel, Caroline throwing orange tortillas, and Edward Ferrars stuttering in the background, with Dan and Stan announcing.

"Well, Stan," said Dan, "looks like we've got a pretty interesting fight coming up here between Darcy and Churchill. I think Churchill has a fighting chance-"

"Dan, you're being ridiculous! This is a take-off on Monty Python, with Darcy as King Darcy and Churchill as the Black Knight! You've seen the movie, you know what's going to happen. Besides, Darcy is the hero! The hero never dies until the end, and that's if he does die, which probably won't happen either!"

Hey! You two shut up-everyone knows I have a trite plot, but I'm not going to take having characters talk about my lack of creativity as well! Now, shut up or I'll turn you two into newts!

And so, the Deathmatch began. Because Rachel had promised to put her friend in, Kat was announcing.

"In this corner," said Kat, "we have King Darcy, weighing a reasonable amount and looking quite fetching in his lovely green coat. He likes to fence and swim and express opinions which are in fact not his own-" She looked at her cards again. "Oh-well, the thing about expressing opinions is wrong, but in any case, he's taken."

The crowd cheered enthusiastically, as always.

"And in this corner we have Frank Churchill, who has a side career as a Jedi Knight and who looks nice except for his wig. Still, he is a nice enough chap who likes to play the piano and thinks of nothing but showing off!" He then proceeded to prance about the ring doing a little dance, showing off to advantage.

CK, Katt, and Meesh screamed. "Go, my little Jedi!" Meesh cried, and blew him a juicy kiss.

The boys came to the front of the ring. Kat pulled out two swords from behind her back. "Now, these are your weapons, dudes. Don't break them because they're rentals, and because this part is so long already let's not loose those few readers who haven't fallen asleep. Make it quick, exciting, but don't kill each other. And Frank, none of those Jedi Powers or Rachel will have to do something naughty."

Both men shuddered at that particular threat, and after touching swords, the fight began. Frank used all of his fancy tricks, making little figure eighths with his sword. Sadly, because he was so absorbed in making the figure eighths fast, he wasn't able to stop his hand in time to prevent Darcy from swiping at the left side of his face, cutting off all of the hair on that side neatly.

"That was a touch! I've won!" Darcy cried, and started to do the Dance of Joy with Balki and Larry and Kat, but then Frank had to say something.

"No you haven't! 'Tis but a scratch!"

Darcy gave him a look. "A scratch? You've lost a bunch of your hair! If that wasn't a touch, then I don't know what it is!"

Churchill shrugged. "Come on, you pansy!"

"You're a looney!" Darcy declared, but pulled out his sword.

So, they continued to fight and after a while of parrying and other words used in fencing happened, Darcy cut off a lot of his hair from the right side of his face, making it all even. "Victory is mine!" Darcy declared, and bowed with his sword to make a little prayer of thanks, but Frank tapped him on the shoulder.

"I've still got lots of hair you could cut off at this point, bud, so we have to continue." Frank raised his sword. "Have at you!"

"What?"

"Look, you stupid dandy, you've got no hair left! You can't go into London looking like that! Look at it!"

Frank pulled out a mirror, and looked. "Just a flesh wound," he declared and put his compact away, then gave Darcy a gentle push. "Chicken! Chicken!"

Darcy sighed and stood up, swung his sword, and neatly cut off the little mohawk that had materialized after all of his cuts. Frank pulled out his mirror. "I can't see the back . . . anyone have a mirror I could borrow?" Bingley pulled out Darcy's mirror, and held it for Frank so he could fully examine his hair.

"Hmm . . . nice and short, with a small ponytail in the back . . . the sort of thing I think George would like! I mean, after those huge pastries Carrie Fisher had on the side of her head, I think we know what George's tastes run to . . . yes, thanks, Darcy! Saves me from having to get my hair cut . . . never liked the long look anyway. Thanks!" he said, returning the mirror to Bingley and patting Darcy on the back.

Darcy smiled. "What are friends for, Frank?" They smiled, hugged, and Frank backed up, and bowed, moving himself from the path of the bridge.

"Carry on, Darcy old chap! Good luck!"

Darcy smiled and thanked Frank, then called out, "Come, Bingley!" and the coconuts going again, it was safe for the two to cross the bridge and head along their merry way.

*Just as a footnote--the whole bit about "It's crazy, it's madcap . . . the kids seem to like it,"--that was the words of BBC official when MPFC was pretty much a new thing. I searched to make sure this quote was right, so you'd best be grateful and tell me how clever I am, OK?

Part 5

Posted on Thursday, 30-Jul-98

In this Republic of Pemberley, there were many societies of devotion. There were several holy works in the land, written by their Goddess, Jane Austen. Her five main works consisted of Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, and Emma. These works were discussed and examined by all of her disciples and residents, and they all took it very seriously. There were minor disagreements, as there were large arguments over certain things. There were even religious societies formed about these schools of thought! One of the more studious societies even had monks who devoted themselves to the intense exclusive study of her texts for deeper understanding. One of the things they did was chanting-they walked about and chanted in the cities where they had their seminaries. They would chant from her works . . . on this particular day that we concern ourselves with, they were chanting from Pride and Prejudice.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged . . ."

"That a single man . . ."

"In possession of a good fortune . . ."

"Must be in want of a wife . . ."

"It is a truth universally acknowledged . . ."

"That a single man . . ."

"In possession of a good fortune . . ."

"Must be in want of a wife . . ."

"It is a truth universally acknowledged . . ."

But this day, there was little peace in the town of Woodston. There was madness in the streets . . . they had found a witch! The throng was screaming and shouting for blood as they headed to the town square. "A witch! A witch! We've found a witch! A witch! A witch! We've got a witch! A witch! A witch! Burn her! Burn her! Burn the witch! We've found a witch! A witch! A witch!"

Luckily, the voice of reason was there. The local clergyman who represented the Church of England in the place was present, and was able to reason with the crowd, as much as he could.

A man from the group spoke up. "We have found a witch. May we burn her?"

The crowd cheered to those words. "Burn her! Burn! Burn the witch!"

The curate, a Mr. Henry Tilney, was definitely a Christian sort of man and did not believe in killing people. "How do you know she is a witch?"

They had to think about this for a moment. "She looks like one!"

"Yeah! Right! Yeah! Yeah!-she looks like one!"

Henry was curious to know what a witch looked like. "Bring her forward." There was nothing they could be happier to do, and the witch was shoved through the crowd to Tilney's view.

However pleased the crowd was by the state of events, Miss Isabella Thorpe was not. "I'm not a witch! I'm not a witch! A trickster, a vain coquette, a false friend, a schemer, and a vicious liar-I might be all of those things, but I am not a witch!"

Henry was everything tactful. "Uh, but you are dressed as one. I mean, not a spot of muslin about you! And that hat!-you look an awful lot like a witch, Miss Thorpe-something straight out of a novel!"

"Mr. Tilney, they dressed me up like this! This isn't me! I'm fashionable!"

The crowd denied the charge. "Augh, we didn't! We didn't . . ."

"And this isn't my nose. It's a false one! For cryin' out loud, if plastic surgery were available in this day and age, I might get a tummy tuck, and maybe some liposuction, but I have a fine nose of my own! Look under and you'll see!"

Tilney pulled at the nose and it bended to reveal, as she said, a very fine nose of her own. "Well?" he asked the crowd.

They knew when they were caught. "Well, we did do the nose," admitted one of them, Villager #1.

"The nose?" Henry asked suspiciously.

Villager #1 sighed. "And the hat, but she is a witch!"

Villager #2, Villager #1's friend, was quick to provide support. "Yeah!"

The crowd was also enthusiastic. "We burn her! Right! Yeaaah! Yeaah! Burn the witch!"

Henry observed her somber black garb, and sighed. "Did you dress her up like this?"

Villagers #1, 2, and another guy, #3, were very fervent in denying charges brought against them. "Oh, no! No. No. No . . ." But when they realized Henry wasn't buying it, they admitted their guilty crimes. "Yes. Yes. Yeah, a bit. A tiny bit." However, Villager #1 was also very observant as he looked at Isabella. "She has got a wart."

Henry, after watching all this, wondered what the point was. "What makes you think she is a witch?"

Villager #3 was quick to speak up. "Well, she turned me into a newt!"

Henry began to stare at Villager #3. "A newt?"

Villager #3 shrugged guiltily. "Well, I got better."

However, the loyal Villager #2 still supported his friend. "Burn her anyway!"

"Burn her! Burn her! Burn the witch! Burn her!"

Henry sighed. At least he was prepared for the situation. "Quiet! Quiet! Quiet!" he called out, hushing the crowd. "There are ways of telling whether she is a witch!"

Unnoticed, Darcy found the crowd and curious, stood at the back to listen for a while.

Villager #1 was curious. "Are there? What are they?"

"Tell us! Tell us!" demanded the crowd.

Henry sighed once more. It would be a long one to drag these silly sots to the point. "Tell me. What do you do with witches?"

"Burn! Burn! Burn them up! Burn!" the crowd answered.

"And what do you burn apart from witches?"

"Uh . . . more witches!"

"Wood!"

Tilney smiled. "So, why do witches burn?"

Now it became challenging for the crowd. "B- . . . 'cause they're made of . . . wood?" asked Villager #3.

Henry smiled approval. "Good! Heh heh. So, how do we tell whether she is made of wood?"

A pause. Then, Villager #1 had an idea. "Build a bridge out of her."

Tilney shook his head. "Ah, but can you not also make bridges out of stone?"

Villager #1 nodded. "Oh, yeah."

Another pause. Then, Henry prodded them again. "Does wood sink in water?"

They all agreed on this one. "No. No."

"No, it floats! It floats!"

Villager #1 had inspiration. "Throw her into the pond!"

The crowd liked this one. Not as good as burning, but still not bad. "The pond! Throw her into the pond! Yeah!"

Henry smiled benignly. "What also floats in water?" The answers were varied.

"Bread!"

"Apples!"

"Uh, very small rocks!"

"Cider!"

"Uh, gra- gravy!"

"Cherries!"

"Mud!"

"Uh, churches! Churches!"

"Lead! Lead!"

Darcy, who had been watching for a while, saw Henry's great irritation. He decided to help the poor curate. "A duck!"

The crowd turned to look at such a wise man. "Oooh!" they cried, greatly impressed.

Henry smiled gratefully. "Exactly! So, logically..."

Villager #1 seemed onto it. "If . . . she . . . weighs . . . the same as a duck . . . she's made of wood."

Henry knew they'd get this last one. "And therefore?"

Villager #2 was the quickest this time. "A witch!"

The crowd was excited. "A witch! A witch! A witch!"

Villager #3 was always helpful. "Here is a duck. Use this duck."

The duck seemed OK with the plan. "Quack quack," said the duck.

Henry was happy to be done with it. "Very good. We shall use my largest scales."

"I'm not a witch!" Isabella pleaded once more, finally finding her voice.

"Ohh! Ohh! Burn the witch! Burn the witch! Burn her! Burn her!" They dragged her over to the scales with the duck, and Henry gently helped her onto the scales.

"Right. Remove the supports!"

The supports were moved, and it went down heavily on Isabella's side. Then, it started to raise, and that was enough for both the crowd and Henry. Both were tired of arguing, and Henry was too shocked by her lack of muslin at the moment to concern himself with saving her.

"A witch! A witch! A witch!" cried the crowd, and went to drag her off.

Isabella sighed and shrugged. "It's a fair cop."

As the crowd dragged poor Isabella off, Henry became interested in talking to Darcy. "Who are you who are so wise in the ways of science?"

Darcy was happy to find a sensible person-finally! "I am Darcy, King of the Pemberlians."

Henry knew who he was. "My liege!" he cried, and bowed.

Darcy figured a man of science would be a good addition to his court. Besides, the man was good with people, as clearly demonstrated. "Good Sir Knight, will you come with me to my court of Pemberley and join us at the Round Table?"

Henry saw an opportunity to get away from the witch-burners, and was quick to snag it. "My liege! I would be honored."

"What is your name?"

"Tilney, sir. Henry Tilney, your Majesty."

Darcy pulled out his sword and placed it on the right shoulder of the kneeling gentleman. "Then I dub you 'Sir Henry, Knight of the Round Table'." He rose, and Darcy was happy to have a man for his Table at last.

"The wise Sir Henry was only the first to join King Darcy's knights-other illustrious names were soon to follow: Sir Knightley the Brave (who was also nicknamed 'Sir Knightley the Knightly'); Sir Colonel Fitzwilliam the Pure (also called 'Sir Stud Muffin'); and Sir Edward, the Not-Quite-So-Brave-As-Sir-Knightley, who had nearly fought the Dragon Fanny of Norland, who had nearly stood up to the vicious Chicken Steele of Plymouth, and who had personally wet himself at the Battle of Tryin'-To-Marry-A-Poor-Girl-Against-Mommy's-Wishes; and the aptly named Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Story. Together they formed a band whose names and deeds were to be retold throughout the centuries: the Knights of the Round Table."

Part 6

Posted on Monday, 03-Aug-98

And now that King Darcy had enough Knights to fill his table, he was quite content to head back to his castle Pemberley. As they rode along, Darcy had a very nice chat with all of his knights, especially Sir Henry. Sir Henry turned out to be a fascinating conversationalist that reminded Darcy a little bit of his wife-even though it was only a tiny bit, it was still a bit.

At this point, Sir Henry was telling him about astronomy and all of the new learning in that field. "This new learn-ing amazes me, Sir Henry. Explain again to me how sheep's bladders may be employed to prevent earthquakes."

Henry was also enjoying the discussion. He was finally able to talk with someone who understood science the way he did, and was not only knowledgeable but was also not-too-talkative and could give him lands and hon-ors that he could take home to his wife Catherine. "Oh, certainly, sir!" Henry said pleasantly.

As they turned the corner, there sat picturesquely a fine castle. "Look, my liege!" cried Sir Knightley, and they all looked. At this point, the trumpets in the soundtrack sounded to alert everyone that it was an important moment.

"Pemberley!" cried Darcy happily.

"Pemberley!" cried Sir Colonel Fitzwilliam, who as Darcy's cousin recognized also the house.

"Pemberley!" cried Sir Knightley, who was impressed.

Bingley wasn't as impressed as the rest. "It's only a borrowed place for filming."

Darcy didn't want them to know that little detail. "Shh!" he whispered to Bingley. "Knights, I bid you welcome to your new home. Let us ride . . . to . . . Pemberley!"

At this point, in the halls of Pemberley, a bunch of Knights were practicing their song-and-dance number for next Tuesday when they would be performing at the court of King Brian the Wild. The men came in unobserved and stood back to listen for a while.

OK, y'all, this is sung to the tune of a song also called "Knights of the Round Table" in the movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail-here you can find it, and I encourage y'all to sing along, as off-key and silly as possible!

We're Knights of the Round Table.
We fence whene'er we're able.
We do routines and dueling scenes
With footwork impeccable.
We dine well here in Pemberley.
Where there's lots of cake and jam for tea.

At this point, the enthusiastic young men began to dance around clumsily, trying a chorus line for a while, but basically knocking over the antiques and upsetting the footmen and dogs.

We're Knights of the Round Table.
Our shows are formidable,
But many times we're given rhymes
That are quite unbearable.
We're Mozart mad in Pemberley.
Lots of roles in "Figaro" for me!

And at this point, the young men began to dance about the halls, trying to tap-dance and succeeding ill.

In war we're tough and able,
Quite indefatigable.
Between our quests we take a rest and practice our show with Mabel.
It's a busy life in Pemberley.

To the tune of the song, the head-singer interrupted.

"We need practice; we're all off-key!" he boomed.

All of the Knights looked at each other, and rolled their eyes. Darcy shrugged, and they started to sneak out of the hall, still unseen.

They stood outside for a moment, then Darcy said something. "Well, on second thought, let's not go to Pemberley. It is a silly place."

All of the Knights nodded, and they decided to meander about for a bit, looking for a sign of what they needed to do. All of a sudden, the clouds parted, a light angelic music began, and appeared . . . JANE AUSTEN!!!!

The men dropped to their knees, and Jane began to speak.

"Darcy . . .! Darcy, King of the Pemberlians!" She then noticed the men on the ground, groveling. "Oh, don't grovel! One thing I can't stand, it's people groveling."

The singing suddenly stopped, and Darcy automatically cried, "Sorry!"

Jane banged her hand in frustration. "And don't apologize! Every time I try to talk to someone it's 'sorry this' and 'forgive me that' and 'I'm not worthy'." Suddenly, they whipped their heads about, and she asked in interrogation. "What are you doing now?!"

Darcy explained quite pleasantly. "I'm averting my eyes, O Mighty Jane!"

She sighed. "Well, don't. It's like that Mansfield Park-it's rather depressing. Now, knock it off!"

"Yes, ma'am," Darcy said, chastised.

Jane smiled benevolently. "Right! Darcy, King of the Pemberlians, your Knights of the Round Table shall have a task to make them an example in these dark times, and also to help me out of a bit of a bind."

For some reason, Darcy turned into Mr. Collins whenever around his Goddess. "Good idea, O Mighty Lady!"

Jane didn't notice. "'Course it's a good idea! Behold!" she cried, and the angels began to sing. She held up a small piece of ivory. "Darcy, this is a Holy Bit of Ivory. You see, I have started a story called Persuasion and am about halfway though, but I'm fresh out of ivory and need some more. Look well at this Bit, Darcy, for it is your sacred task to find some of this ivory. That is your purpose, Darcy: the quest for the Holy Bits of Ivory." After she said this, the angels' singing drew to a crescendo and the clouds closed again, and Darcy felt blessed.

Obviously, the rest of them felt the same way-at least, Sir Knightley did. "A blessing! A blessing from our Lady!" he cried joyously.

Sir Colonel also seemed quite delighted and followed up Knightley's statement with a bit of his own elaboration. "God be praised!"

The trumpets and everything began to sound, and the Quest for the Holy Bits of Ivory officially began.

Part 7

Posted on Sunday, 09-Aug-98

Author's Note: OK. Thanks to no one in particular for the help with the Pig Latin, because no one seemed to know how to treat words that start with vowels. Still, I would like to thank Maddie for making this most delightful picture, and I would like to point out here how ravishing the Colonel looks against the blue background, and how Darcy's hat looks mighty fine!

Well, as the Colonel would say, "Stop Being Silly!" and so here's the story.

Now that the Quest for the Holy Bits of Ivory had begun, they figured they better quest in earnest. They all realized the importance of this new text and knew they had to find some of those Bits and find them quick or the trouble they'd be in!-they did not want to contemplate it.

So, as they were questing in these foreign lands, looking for a clue, they found a castle quite conveniently, as they all were very tired and hungry. After subsisting on stale graham crackers and lots of brandy, they wanted some nice fresh tea and tasty food, and even maybe some cheese, but not Limburger-something more like Swiss, as well as a nice bed for once. So, when this castle was spotted, Darcy called "Halt!" and the coconuts eagerly stopped.

"Hallo!" Darcy called up to the castle. "Hallo! Is anyone there?"

Suddenly, out popped a soldier with an interesting foreign accent. "Hey, dude! Who are you?"

"It is King Darcy, and these are my Knights of the Round Table. Whose castle is this?"

"This is the castle of my master, Roy Rogers."

"Go and tell your master that we have been charged by Jane Austen with a sacred quest. If he will give us food and shelter for the night, he can join us in our quest for the Holy Bits of Ivory."

The guard looked a bit reluctant. "Well, I'll ask him, but I don't think he'll be very keen. Uh, he's already got some, you see."

Darcy was amazed. "What?"

Sir Colonel reassured him of what they said. "He says they've already got some!"

Darcy turned back to the guard. "Are you sure he's got some?"

The guard called back down. "Oh, yes. They're pretty groovy." He turned to his fellow guards. "I told him we already got some!" They laughed at their clever comrade's escapades.

Darcy gave a look at their comrades. Perhaps they could finish their quest right here! "Well, u- um, could we have some of them? Or just come up for a look?"

The guard shook his head vigorously. "Of course not! You're some of those dirty English Britty types!"

Darcy was confused. "Well, what are you, then?"

The guard gave him a look. "I'm an American! Why do you think I have this accent, you silly king?"

Sir Colonel was curious about these Americans. After all, the Revolution wasn't too long ago! "What are you doing in England?"

The American guard was tough. "Mind your own business! I plead the Fifth Amendment! It's a free country, isn't it? I don't have to take this abuse! If the glove don't fit, you must acquit! Besides, possession is nine-tenths of the law, you English Britsky types!"

Now it was Darcy's turn not to take 'it,' whatever 'it' was. "If you do not give us the Holy Bits, we shall take your castle by force!"

The bold American was quick to retaliate. "You don't frighten us, English pig-dogs! You can't enter our house by force, and if you try, I want to see the warrant! Go and boil your bottom, sons of a silly person. I blow my nose at you, so-called Darcy King, you and all your silly English k-nnnnniggets." He and his comrades then began to blow raspberries at Darcy, totally confusing the silly English kniggets.

The Colonel was frank as usual. "What a strange person!"

However, Darcy was not about to give up. "Now look here, my good man-"

The American was very suspicious. "I don't wanna talk to you no more, you stuffy empty headed animal food trough wiper! I fart in your general direction! Your father was a hamster and your mother wore army boots!"

Sir Colonel decided to help his cousin out. "Is there someone else up there we could talk to?"

The American sniffed at him. "No! Now, go away, or I shall taunt you a second time!"

Darcy was quite infuriated by now. "Now, this is your last chance. I've been more than reasonable . . ."

The American didn't bother to listen to Darcy. He turned to his comrades and spoke in their most secret language as Darcy talked on. "Etch-fay he-tay ow-cay."

One of the newer men was confused. "What?"

Sighing, the American repeated himself. "Etch-fay he-tay ow-cay!"

"Ahh!" the other Americans sighed, and they trotted downstairs to the barn . . .

"If you do not agree to my commands, then I shall-" Suddenly, a disturbed moo was heard along with a sort of twong! and Darcy realized what had happened. "Jesus Christ!" he screamed, and all of them began to run from the flying cow.

Now that was too much for Darcy. As soon as the cow had landed with a moooo-splat!, Darcy called to his Knights, "Right! Charge!"

The drums sounded, and the Knights echoed, "CHARGE!"

It was mayhem. From the top of the castle, pigs and chickens and ducks and geese and even American soldiers were tossed down at the poor Knights. The calls heard from the top from the Americans were things like, "Hey, this one is for your mother, who is so fat that she plays pool with the planets! There you go!" "And this one's for your dad, who smelt of elderberries!" Soon, they were even sending down cows and really ugly goats. Darcy realized the danger they were in.

"Run away!" he cried, and his Knights soon echoed with a "Run away!" of their own. The satisfied Americans blew raspberries and called out more taunts to keep them back.

Sir Knightley was enraged. "Dirty American fiends! I'll tear 'em apart!-at least, I'll try!" he cried, and started to race up the hill until Darcy reached out and restrained him.

"No, no, Sir Knightley! You must not-no."

Sir Henry suddenly had a brainstorm. "Sir! I have a plan, sir." There was a little conference of busy whispering, and after a few "Rights!" they disappeared into the woods.

The Americans had expected this turn of events. They figured the British would bugger off, being the wussy-pussy namby-pamby pansies they were. They heard a few noises that sounded like saws going and hammers pounding, but they had no idea of what was going on. Suddenly, up the hill came . . . a large wooden rabbit!

The guards held conference outside the door. "It-hay is-hay a-hay abbit-ray!"

"Uh-hay?"

"A-hay resent-pay!"

"Qué?"

"Un conejo!"

"Oh, un conejo!"

"Si, si!"

"Hurry!"

"Let's go!"

"Right!"

They then walked out, and wheeled the huge rabbit into the castle. Darcy grinned. "They took it! What happens now?"

Sir Henry was only too happy to answer. "Well, now Knightley, Colonel, and I wait until nightfall, and then we leap out of the rabbit and take the Americans by surprise. And not only by surprise, but totally unarmed!" He smiled, but Darcy had his brow furrowed.

"Uh . . . who leaps out?"

Henry pointed to the knights. "Well, Knightley, Colonel, and I, uh, leap out of the rabbit and . . ." Then they all realized the hole in the plot.

"Oh, man!" cried Darcy, slapping his hand to his forehead and running it down his face.

Henry began to think. "Oh. Um, l- look, i- i- if we built this large wooden badger-"

Knightley quickly slapped Henry's visor shut. Then, they saw a sight that amazed them . . . it was the rabbit again-in the air, heading straight toward them! Darcy screamed, "Run away! Run away!" And so, without looking back, they headed off.

The Americans chortled with glee at their easy victory over such persons as sport bumblebee socks and V-neck sweaters. "Oh, haw haw haaaa! Haw haw haaa! Hee hee! Ho ho! Giggle giggle! Snicker snickers . . . mmm, I'll have one too! Thanks! . . . tasty! Snort!"

Part 8

Posted on Friday, 14-Aug-98

Author's Note: This particular chapter I want to dedicate to my friend Kirsten because this is her favorite part in the movie and because she loves Eric Idle and Sir Robin so much. But if you want it to be dedicated to you, just close your eyes and imagine that it is . . . Right! Let's get on with it!

Ken Shabby, Professor of Fictitious History at Oxford and Cambridge, also a dignified cleaner of public lavatories, from his book The Characters In Jane Austen Take Over History:

"Defeat at the castle seemed to have utterly disheartened King Darcy. The ferocity of the American taunting took him completely by surprise, and Darcy became convinced that a new strategy was required if the quest for the Holy Bits of Ivory was to be brought to a successful conclusion. Darcy, having consulted his closest and cutest knights, decided that they should separate and search for the Bits individually. Now, this is what they did: Knightley-"

Suddenly, out of nowhere, an American knight comes and kills Ken Shabby, which is quite a feat considering the fact that at no point in time did America ever have knights-the country was founded, let alone discovered long after the Middle Ages and chivalry and everything Knightly was long gone by then, which is not to the point, considering the fact that Americans couldn't-

"All right, stop this! This is far too silly!"

What? Not you again, buddy? Listen, I know my rights, and I can do whatever I want with my own story! You don't want a working creative interpreter, you want a bloody historian to write this! For the sake of Bill Clinton, man, have you ever taken a break? Have you ever done something naughty? I bet when you were a kid you were a hallway boy and a lunchroom monitor, right?

"Well, yes-"

See, bud? You need to lighten up! Now, here's about 20 bucks-I command you to go to the nearest bar, get drunk, and sing Karaoke in a loud and annoying voice. Don't worry, I'll stop here with the silliness-you've already ruined it by jumping in.

"Well, all right . . ."

Good . . . now 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . the story!

So, each of the knights went their separate ways. Sir Edward rode north, through the dark forest of Sotherton, accompanied by his favorite minstrels . . .

Sir Edward was a shy sort of person, so his minstrels well suited him. Their music could keep him company and prevent him from needing to speak, and their songs in praise of him built up his ego. Today, not surprisingly, they were singing a song about the courage of himself.

Authors' Note: This song is taken from the movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail, obviously. I believe it was written by Neil Innes, who is really smart and a good song writer and he's the cute minstrel who sings it in the movie! Here is the MIDI for it, and Ann, if this link doesn't work like the last time, I hope you can fix it later on! :)

"Bravely bold Sir Edward rode forth from Pemberley.
He was not afraid to die, O brave Sir Edward!
He was not at all afraid to be killed in nasty ways,
Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Edward!

"He was not in the least bit scared to be mashed into a pulp,
Or to have his eyes gouged out and his elbows broken,
To have his kneecaps split and his body burned away
And his limbs all hacked and mangled, brave Sir Edward!

"His head smashed in and his heart cut out
And his liver removed and his bowels unplugged
And his nostrils raped and his bottom burned off
And his stomach-"

However much Sir Edward loved his minstrels, he did get tired of them every now and then. I mean, one man could hear enough praise of himself. "That's- that's, uh- that's enough music for n-now, lads. Heh heh. Looks like there's dirty work afoot."

He looked about him at the road as they rode along. It had signs all over the place, saying things like,

Sir Edward did not like this one bit, and was about to turn back when he noticed a very scary thing ahead of him-a fierce-looking knight! This Knight was very odd-it had the heads of Tom Bertram, Edmund Bertram, and Fanny Price-in that order from left to right. The heads together began to speak.

"Halt! Who art thou?"

His minstrels, as always, were 'helpful'. "He is brave Sir Edward, brave Sir Edward, who-"

"Shh!" he cried to them. Then, turning to the knight, "Um, n- n- n- nobody, really. I'm j- j- j- ju- just, um- just passing through."

"What do you want?" asked the knight.

"To fight and-" declared his minstrels for him.

"Shut up!" he whispered to the minstrels. Then, to the heads-"Um, oo, a- nothing. Nothing, really. I, uh- j- j- just- just to, um- just to p- pass through, good Sir Knight."

The heads were all in agreement for once. "I'm afraid not!"

Edward decided to try another tactic. "Ah. W- well, actually I- I am a Knight of the Round Table."

The heads were surprised. "You're a Knight of the Round Table?"

Edward was able to admit it. "I- I am."

Tom Bertram spoke up alone. "In that case, I shall have to kill you."

Edmund looked at the other two. "Shall I?"

Fanny was nice, as always. "Oh, I don't think so."

"Well, what do I think?" asked Edmund, indecisive.

Tom was determined in his thoughts. "I think kill him."

"Oh, let's be nice to him!" pleaded Fanny.

Tom sighed. "Oh, shut up, Fanny! Honestly, you're too nice to be vicious knight!"

Sir Edward thought appropriate to offer up a plan. "Perhaps I could-"

Tom wasn't about to take it. "And you. Oh, quick! Get the sword out. I want to cut his head off!"

Fanny was tired of Tom's pushy ways, and muttered so only Edmund could hear, which was a hard task, "Oh, cut your own head off!"

Edmund wasn't afraid to echo this. "Yes, do us all a favor!"

Tom, who hadn't heard, said, "What?"

Fanny muttered again-this time, more loudly-"Yapping on all the time . . ."

Edmund sighed. "You're lucky, Fanny. You're not next to him."

"What do you mean?" asked Tom.

"You snore!" accused Edmund.

"Oh, I don't. Anyway, you've got bad breath."

Edmund was indignant. "Well, it's only because you don't brush my teeth."

Fanny so hated arguments. "Oh, stop fighting and let's go have tea."

Tom was ready to make peace. "Oh, all right. All right. All right. We'll kill him first and then have tea and biscuits."

Edmund was happy enough with this. "Yes."

Fanny shook her head. "Oh, not biscuits."

Tom nodded, waving his arm about. "All right, not biscuits, but let's kill him anyway!"

"Right!" they all agreed. When the turned to look at Sir Edward, they discovered something.

"He buggered off!" noticed Edmund.

Fanny was secretly pleased for that nice Sir Edward. "So he has. He's gone!" Tom began to whine.

However, the escaping Sir Edward wasn't quite as happy as might be expected. His head minstrel, who was upset for being shushed there, began to sing a little song as revenge, while Edward contradicted him, all the way into the forest as they slunk off into the distance.

"Brave Sir Edward ran away,"

"No!"

"Bravely ran away, away."

"I didn't!"

"When danger reared its ugly head, he bravely turned his tail and fled."

"No!"

"Yes, brave Sir Edward turned about"

"I didn't!"

"And gallantly, he chickened out. Bravely taking to his feet,"

"I never did!"

"He beat a very brave retreat,"

"All lies!"

"Bravest of the brave, Sir Edward . . ."

"I never!"

Continued In Next Section