Beginning, Previous Section, Section III

Part 14

Posted on Thursday, 17-Sep-98

Author's Note: Well, right here I feel necessary to accept my annual Friends of the Minstrel award given to me by the Mothers Against Minstrel Abuse (MAMA)--

I would like to thank Neil Innes for being such a cute minstrel, and I would like to thank Sir Robin/Eric Idle for being cool enough to employ such darling minstrels, and I would like to thank MAMA for giving me this delightful award, as well as thanking myself for being such a cool person.

But besides this, in any case, not only because of the Minstrel Award, I would like to dedicate this chapter jointly to Katt and Meesh, or Meesh and Katt, for their awesome story Business In London that I have ripped off on occasion, and for just being such loverly people--more of Willoughby Wallaby Woo, you hear? In any case, consider this all for you two!

o, they rode and they rode and they rode and they rode a lot more, and Ann told them approximately how near they were to the cave. There seemed to be a very foreboding air about the place, and it smelled a touch bad. However, while this only troubled the knights slightly, it troubled the horses a great deal.

"They're nervous, sire!" exclaimed Sir Colonel, and Darcy sighed.

"Then we'd best leave them here and carry on on foot. DIS-mount!" he cried, and their coconuts kept trotting nervously, watching the Knights bravely forge on as they gratefully stayed behind.

"Behold the Cave of London!"

Darcy thought for a moment, then pulled out his camera and took a few pictures. After he tucked that safely into his knapsack, he yanked out his sword. "Right! Keep me covered!" he cried, staring out from their place behind a large rock where they watched the cave unobserved.

"What with?" asked the practical Sir Colonel.

Darcy had to think for a moment. "W— just keep me covered."

Ann, who had been surveying the cave, cried suddenly, "Too late!" and after a nice dramatic chord sounded they all turned to watch as a fashionable young woman came out, beginning to take a turn about the room, as it was very refreshing. They watched, brows furrowed.

"What?" asked Darcy.

"There she is!" cried Ann, staring at the girl.

"Where?" asked Darcy, concentrating very hard on trying to see the beast.

"There!" cried Ann, pointing at the girl.

"What, behind the girl?" asked Sir Henry.

"It is the girl!" cried Ann, frustrated at their thick-headedness.

"You silly sod!" cried Darcy, exasperated.

"What?" demanded Ann.

"You got us all worked up!" said Darcy, tired of all this fussing.

"Well, that's no ordinary girl! That's Caroline Bingley!" cried Ann, hoping this would ring a few bells.

"Ohh!" said Darcy, obviously not impressed.

"That's the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered lady you ever set eyes on!" cried Ann, now exasperated with them. She was wondering why Darcy didn't remember this name, but realized quickly that it was Poetic License taking effect, and decided to continue along with the script.

"You moron! I soiled my armor I was so scared!" said Edward sarcastically, who felt if anyone should be scared it would be he, and he knew he wasn't scared.

"Look, that Bingley's got a vicious streak a mile wide! She's a killer!"

"Get stuffed!" said the Colonel skeptically.

"She'll do you up a treat, mate!" cried Ann, who couldn't believe how stupid they were acting.

"Oh, yeah?" said the Colonel with a challenge in his voice.

"You mangy Cheesehead git!" cried Sir Edward.

"I'm warning you!" cried Ann defensively.

"What's she do, pinch your bum?" asked Sir Edward doubtfully.

"She's got huge, sharp— eh— she can leap about— look at the bones!"

"Go on, Brandon. Chop her head off!" cried Darcy, ignoring the 'Enchanter' and sending in one of his more fierce-fighting knights.

"Right! Silly little bleeder. One vixen stew comin' right up!" cried BigNose . . . err, Brandon playfully, and he pulled out his sword, chasing the girl down.

"Look!" cried Ann, and they all watched as Caroline whipped out a long orange feather and ticked his nose, making him stop and sneeze. Then, they watched as she coolly threw an actual orange at him, successfully killing him.

"Jesus Christ!" cried Darcy in surprise.

"I warned you!" said Ann triumphantly. "I warned you, but did you listen to me? Oh, no, you knew it all, didn't you? Oh, it's just a harmless little girly, isn't it? Well, it's always the same. I always tell them—"

"Oh, shut up!" cried Darcy, no longer sure how to deal with such a creature. Ann just ignored him and talked over him, saying her 'I-told-you-so's with vigor.

"Do they listen to me?"

"Right!" cried Darcy, determined to try it. They all charged the girl, and Ann just shook her head.

"Oh, no . . ."

They all charged, brandishing their swords fearfully, but to no avail. She was a wily woman; and after watching several of their comrades die by pumpkin-orange poisoning, they ran away.

"Run away! Run away! Run away!" they all screamed, racing away like the devil was on their tail. Ann just had herself a hearty laugh.

"Ha ha ha ha! Ha haw haw! Ha! Ha ha!" she laughed.

"Right. How many did we lose?" said Darcy, keenly assessing their losses.

"Weston."

"Price."

"And Brandon."

"We'd better not risk another frontal assault—that girl's dynamite!" decided Darcy.

Sir Edward, who had been brave at first, was scared of the girl now. "Would it help to confuse her if we run away more?"

"Oh, shut up and go and change your armor!" cried Knightley, as nice as he was, was tired of Edward's wishy-washy-ness.

"Let us taunt her! She may become so cross that she will make a mistake!" cried Sir Colonel.

"Like what?" cried Darcy excitedly, as it sounded like good theory to him.

"Well . . ." started the Colonel, who then realized that her attack was too basic to cause her to make a mistake.

"Have we got bows?" cried Sir Knightley, who thought he could take his arrows and his bow and shoot at her.

"No,"

They thought for a while, then Sir Knightley remembered something. "We have the Holy Pen Nib!" he cried happily.

Darcy smiled with delight. "Yes, of course! The Holy Pen Nib of Business! 'Tis one of the sacred relics Sister Katt carries with her! Sister Katt! Bring up the Holy Pen Nib!" he cried to her. She looked up, and gave him a regal nod as she began to gather her stuff. The monks were cued, and they began chanting and looking Holy. They finally reached Darcy, and the Nib was reverently handed to him.

He stared at the piece of metal. "How does it, um— how does it work?" he finally asked.

Knightley, who was considered their ultimate source on weaponry, spoke up. "I know not, my liege."

"Consult the Book of Armaments!" cried Darcy.

"Armaments, chapter two, verses nine to twenty-one," cued Sister Katt, which made Sister Meesh, Sister Katt's roommate, stumble forward with the Book of Armaments.

After clearing her throat and trying her scales, sipping on some Evian water, she began, "And Saint Cassandra raised the Pen Nib up on high, saying, 'O Goddess, bless this Thy Pen Nib that, with it, Thou mayest write all over Thine enemies in Thy mercy.' And the Jane did grin, and the people did feast upon the gruel and Constantia wine and pheasant and white soup and strawberries and asparagus with a fricassee of sweet breads, and nectarines, peaches, and grapes and large chu—"

Katt, who had stood stoically for a while, realized it probably wasn't going anywhere for a while, said, "Skip a bit, Sister."

Meesh then proceeded to skip a bit. "And the Jane spake, saying, 'First shalt thou take out the Holy Nib. Then, shalt thou count to three. No more. No less. Three shalt be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, nor either count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then, lobbest thou thy Holy Pen Nib of Business towards thy foe, who, being naughty in My sight, shall snuff it.'"

"Amen," said Katt with a holy air.

"Amen!" cried the Knights.

"Right! One! . . . Two! . . . Five!" cried Darcy, holding the Nib up in the air.

"Three, sir!" cried Sir Colonel correcting his cousin, and then Darcy turned, looked at him, and irritably handed the Nib to him.

"Look, I'm tired of you correcting me! If you think you're so smart, you do it!"

Sir Colonel proceeded to walk over to Caroline, holding the Nib out with a charming smile on his face.

"Caroline, my sweet, would you mind acting out a bit of Sleeping Beauty for me? Would you pretend that you are the princess, and this," he pointed to the nib, "is the spindle of the spinning wheel?"

She looked up from her feather, and felt herself charmed by his eyes. "Anything for you, my Muffin!" she simpered, and obligingly touched the Holy Pen Nib. She then fainted to the ground, and the Colonel turned back to the men.

"Oh, yeah, who's the Man? who's the Man?" he asked, beginning to strut about as he "raised the roof"—a little dance that consisted of him raising his arms in the air with his palms flat, dancing about with a big grin on his face. Then he began to pump his fists in victory, crying "Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes!! I am the Man!—the MAN!" and Darcy came out, rolling his eyes and sighing, and the whole crew walked past the happy Colonel, and headed on into the Cave of London.

Part 15

Posted on Sunday, 20-Sep-98

Once in the cave, they lit torches and crept along, very scared and rather nervous. They looked at the walls, trying to find something. Then, suddenly, Darcy thought he saw something.

"There! Look!" cried Darcy.

They all peered at what appeared to be writing on the wall. "What does it say?" asked Sir Knightley.

"What language is that?" asked Sir Colonel, musing over the question.

"Sister Katt! You are a scholar!" Darcy cried and threw her forward to look at the wall. She studied it, pulled out her pince-nez, and studied it again. She pulled out a handkerchief, and began to clean the pince-nez, then pulled it up to look at the writing again. After a few repetitions of this, she suddenly spoke.

"Beats me, dude—all I see is a big black dot."

Darcy frowned, then the Colonel coughed.

"Perhaps taking your eye-patch off might work."

"Aaargh!" cried Katt, and took off the eye-patch. She then looked through her pince-nez, and laughed.

"Ahh! Well, duh!—it's Vernacular!"

"Of course! Lady Susan Vernon!" said Sir Colonel excitedly.

"Of course!" cried Knightley.

"What does it say?" asked Darcy.

"It reads, 'Here may be found the last words of Lady Susan Vernon. He who is valiant and pure of spirit may find the Holy Bits of Ivory in the Castle of Aaaaaagggh.'"

"What?" asked Darcy, confused.

She turned back and read it again. "' . . . The Castle of Aaaaaagggh'."

"What is that?" asked Sir Henry, who was very skeptical.

"She must have died while carving it!" theorized Sister Katt.

"Oh, come on!" said Knightley, disbelieving.

"Well, that's what it says," said Katt defensively.

"Look, if she was dying, she wouldn't bother to carve 'aaaaaagggh'. She'd just say it!" said Darcy with conviction.

"Well, that's what's carved in the rock!" said Katt, wanting to stick her tongue out at him.

"Perhaps she was dictating," suggested the Colonel sensibly.

"Oh, shut up!" cried the frustrated Darcy to his cousin. "Well, does it say anything else?"

Katt shook her head. "No. Just 'aaaaaagggh'."

"Aaaaaagggh," tried Knightley.

"Aaaaaagggh . . ." murmured the Colonel.

"Aaaaaagggh . . ." thought Henry. They all began trying, thinking of what it could be as they said it over and over repeatedly.

"Do you suppose she meant the Camaaaaaargue?" asked Henry.

"Where's that?" asked Sir Colonel.

"France, I think," said Henry.

They thought some more. "Isn't there a 'Saint Aaauuves' in Cornwall?" asked Sir Knightley.

"No, that's St. Ives!" said Darcy. They all nodded their agreement, and thought some more.

Henry suddenly decided to look about the cave for inspiration, and screamed "Aagggggh!"

"No, no. 'Aaaaaagggh', at the back of the throat. Aaaaaagggh," corrected Sir Knightley.

"N— no. No, no, no, no. 'Aagggggh', in surprise and alarm," said Henry.

"Oh, you mean sort of a 'aaaah'!"

"Yes, but I—aaaaaah!" Henry cried, pointing. They all turned to look, and all collectively screamed. "Aaaaagh!"

"It's Mrs. E, the legendary Black Beast of Aaaaaagggh!" cried Sister Katt, and without much ado, curled up into the fetal position and rolled away. The legendary Black Beast of Aaaaaagggh began to talk to her about her brother called Mr. Suckling, his barouche-landau and his home at Maple Grove. Then she turned to the group, and after looking at them, cried out to them.

"KNIGHTLEY!" she cried, and they all screamed in horror, especially Sir Knightley.

"That's it! That's it!"

"Run away!" cried Darcy and they echoed him, screaming and running, as Mrs. Elton chased them. They ran hither, thither, and yon—they ran this way and that way and every which way but loose. Finally, they found a nice little niche in wall in which to hide, and they jumped into it, whispered excitedly among themselves. They noticed a person in a black habit in the niche next door with a strange weapon shooting darts, and the strangeness of the surroundings rendered them scared out of their wits. As the horrendous Black Beast lunged forward, escape for Darcy and his knights seemed hopeless, when suddenly, the author got a bit hungry, and stopped writing to find some chocolate. The peril was no more, and the quest for Holy Bits of Ivory could continue.

Part 16

Posted on Friday, 25-Sep-98

When they finally saw the light at the end of the Cave, they all got a bit excited. Carefully, they walked out to find a small ledge that led to a bridge . . .

"The Bridge of Death!" cried Darcy.

"Oh, great," cried the rather depressed Sir Edward.

Darcy stared at the old man, who seemed a bit familiar . . . "Look! There's the Old Man from scene twenty-four!"

"What is he doing here?" wondered Sir Henry aloud.

"He must be the keeper of the Bridge of Death. He asks each traveler five questions—"

"Three questions," corrected Sir Colonel.

Darcy rolled his eyes. "Three questions. He who answers the five questions—"

"Three questions!" repeated the Colonel.

"Three questions may cross in safety," said Darcy, who was feeling quite beaten up and tired.

"What if you get a question wrong?" asked Sir Edward nervously.

"Then you are cast into the Gorge of Eternal Peril," said Darcy, gesturing to the deep pit before them.

Sir Edward was practically shaking as he looked down at it. "Oh, I won't go!" he refused, and they ignored him.

"Who's going to answer the questions?" asked Sir Colonel.

"Sir Edward!" cried Darcy.

"Yes?" asked Edward fearfully.

"Brave Sir Edward, you go!" insisted Darcy.

"Hey! I've got a great idea. Why doesn't Knightley go?" asked Edward lamely, then fell down like the dork he is—well, nothing against Edward Ferrars as a character, I should say, but you know how dorky Hugh Grant made him. I mean, jeez! I think Katt and Meesh are on to it—he is a complete weenie. Well, anyway . . .

Knightley nodded. "Yes. Let me go, my liege. I will take him single-handed. I shall make a feint to the northeast, then—"

"No, no!" cried Darcy. "No. Hang on! Hang on! Hang on! Just answer the five questions—"

"Three questions!" corrected the Colonel.

"Three questions as best you can, and we shall watch . . . and pray," Darcy finished, turning to give a glare to his cousin.

Knightley nodded. "I understand, my liege."

Darcy sighed, and patted his friend on the back with a smile. "Good luck, brave Sir Knightley. God be with you."

With no hesitation, Sir Knightley walked up to the edge of the cliff, and headed towards the shrunken Old Man. The man held out his hand, and spoke.

"Stop! Who would cross the Bridge of Death must answer me these questions three, ere the other side he see."

"Ask me the questions, bridgekeeper. I am not afraid!" he said bravely.

"What . . . is your name?"

"My name is 'Sir Knightley of Pemberley'."

"What . . . is your quest?"

"To seek the Holy Bits of Ivory."

"What . . . is your favorite color?"

"Blue."

After hearing all of these answers, the man moved quite cordially and pointed toward the bridge. "Right. Off you go, then!"

Knightley looked surprised, but wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Oh, thank you. Thank you very much," and then walked across the bridge.

As they saw him walk across unscathed, Sir Edward gasped. "That's easy!" he cried, and ran forth.

"Stop! Who approacheth the Bridge of Death must answer me these questions three, ere the other side he see."

"Ask me the questions, bridgekeeper. I'm not afraid."

"What . . . is your name?"

"'Sir Edward of Pemberley'."

"What . . . is your quest?"

"To seek the Holy Bits of Ivory."

"What . . . is inherent in the system?"

Sir Edward had to stop and think about that one. "I don't know that! That wasn't my scene—!" He then screamed, and was tossed into the Gorge of Eternal Peril.

The remaining three looked at each other. "It's your turn, Sir Henry," said Sir Colonel.

"No, it's not—this is when you're supposed to go, you stupid git!" cried Henry indignantly.

"Hey, bud—someone's going to die here, and it's not going to be me! I have standing, you know—Rachel loves me too much to toss me off into any Gorge of Eternal Peril! I think you're overestimating your standing, my friend! Well, it was great to know you!" the Colonel said, patting Sir Henry on the back lightly.

Darcy screamed. "Augh! Shut up, Fitzwilliam! I am so tired of your little superiority act—you're so sure you'll never die because you've got that prancing ninny Rachel writing the story. I mean, come on, bud. She's not that great, and besides, she's somewhat fickle if you haven't noticed. Haven't you done your research? Besides, Henry is not going up there. I will not allow it."

Sir Colonel was a bit ruffled. Sure, he did get all the good scenes and everything, and he was always photographed on his best side, but he had to take the little heartaches that went along with being a Stud Muffin. He was tired of Darcy, and he was going to speak.

"Well, Darcy, you know what I'm tired of? I'm tired of your little rantings and ravings. All you've got going for you is a wet shirt—a wet shirt, for Christ's sake! You know, it's very tiring to be a Stud Muffin—you don't realize how fatiguing it is being chased around all the time, having women want to grab you and steal your clothes and drool all over you—I don't think you appreciate how hard it is!"

Darcy snorted derisively. "Oh, Henry, let's pity the poor Stud Muffin!" He pulled a grotesque pitying face, completely with projected lower lip. "And as to the shirt, Fitzwilliam, at least I have something! You don't even have a first name! Ha-hah! And you're poor, and you're not even handsome!"

"Oh, Darcy!—well, now I see where you're going with this . . ." said the Colonel, waking up to a truth. "You're jealous of me!"

"What? Don't be absurd!"

"It's true! You're jealous of me because I've got bunches of women drooling over me and fighting over me and everything, and you're put in the shade next to me! For years I've been jealous of you, and now you wish you were me! What irony!" He laughed wryly, and Darcy turned red, and began to bluster.

"Oh, yeah, be jealous of you with your simpering droolers!—come on, be straight with yourself, Fitzie-Pie! You've got the ficklest girls—you're only a fad! One day you're going to be taken down and someone else will be in your place, and you know it!"

"I don't think so, Darcy. I think that if anyone's going down, it is you. You've been the hero for long enough, but now it's my turn! Besides, my fans are very loyal . . . the lengths they go to for me!" said the Colonel confidently, crossing his arms and staring at Darcy with a bit of smugosity.

"Oh, come on. It's all about endurance, and you don't have it, bud. I've got the money, the looks, the fame, and all you have is 4 minutes and 3 seconds on film."

"Hah! Well, you don't have the fans that would take the time and count how long you're on film. You don't have people who like you that much! Besides, I've heard about the underground movement of women who prefer that David Rintoul to you, Colin, besides the fact that I know Knightley has some lady-loves . . ." The Colonel smiled. "Honestly, Darcy, you ought to just admit that in this situation, I'm right and you're wrong."

"SHUT UP! I'm tired of your little smug attitude, Mr. Thang. Just because we're in a story of Rachel's doesn't mean you're top dog."

"Oh, but it does mean exactly that, Darcy. You know it, I know it, and the rest of Pemberley knows it," said the Colonel with a smug smile.

"Oh, please. I question Rachel's sanity—this story is stupid, and that is what we all know. She is an inane simpleton and she has the taste of a Lydia Bennet—chases after every red coat in sight. I mean, you know about her and Denny . . ." Darcy gave his cousin a significant look, and appeared very satisfied with himself.

"I shan't have you talk about Rachel in that fashion," said the Colonel, stepping forward toward Darcy, lips thin and eyes bright. "She's been right good to me, and I won't let you talk about her like that."

"Yes, Darcy . . . are you sure this is wise? She can hear, you know!" said Henry in a quiet voice.

Darcy ignored him. "Oh, really, Stud? Well, I don't care what you think! She's incompetent, and she's arrogant, and she's tactless and tasteless. She has the writing abilities of a walnut and the drawing abilities of a booger, and I dare her to kill me!" He then extended his arms to the heavens, looking up. "Kill me, Rachel, you talentless hack! I dare you to!"

Then, he turned back to Sir Colonel. "And as for you, if you have a thing against me, let's fight it out here!"

The Colonel sighed, and raised his nose, taking on a very patronizing air, speaking to Darcy exactly as one would to a sniveling, bratty child. "I won't deign to kill you—it would be very unfair of me."

Darcy's rage boiled over. "Well, I have no scruple in killing you, you pasty-faced, pigeon-chested little tosser! Have at you!" he cried, and rammed into the Colonel, knocking him into the Gorge of Eternal Peril.

Henry looked at Darcy with wide eyes. "You're in for it now!"

Darcy, who was also stunned at his actions, tried to hide it. "Nun-uh!" he finally said, then realized something. "If Rachel were there, she would have killed me by now. She's gone! yeah!—no more Fitzwilliam the Hot Pants Stud Muffin!"

He then boldly walked up to the Bridgekeeper. "Ask me the questions, Bridgekeeper, I'm not afraid!"

The Bridgekeeper respectfully began asking the questions, disbelieving the scene that had just played out before him. "What . . . is your name?"

"It is 'Darcy', King of the Pemberlians."

"What . . . is your quest?"

"To seek the Holy Bits of Ivory."

"What . . . is the air-speed velocity of an unladen flying Navy man?"

Darcy frowned. "What do you mean? A Lieutenant or a Captain, or maybe an Admiral?"

The Bridgekeeper frowned. "Huh? I—I don't know that. Auuuuuuuugh!" he screamed, and fell to his death.

Once again, Sir Henry was amazed. "How do know so much about flying Navy men?"

Darcy smiled confidently. "Well, you have to know these things when you're a king, you know." They then crossed the bridge, and the story continued. After crossing the bridge, they began to wonder where Sir Knightley had gotten himself to . . .

Part 17

Posted on Wednesday, 30-Sep-98

Author's Note: Well, the end is a-coming . . . I know you guys were a bit upset about last time with Sir Colonel, so I got this really interesting idea . . . well, actually it was Bill's idea for an ending and although I already had a great idea for the ending, I still couldn't let it go to waste. So, a big THANK YOU! to mon chou a la creme, and I would like to dedicate this chapter to Spring and Maddie jointly for their kindness to me—thank you Spring for helping me get this story off the ground, and a thanks to Maddie for her little inspirations and that great picture! :)

"Knightley! Knightley! Knightley!" they cried.

"Knightley! Knightley!"

"Knightley! KNIGHT-LEY!"

They cried and screamed and shouted for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. They shrugged and continued on, figuring he was just ahead of them.

However, Knightley was not that silly. He had been waiting ever so patiently for his comrades, but out of nowhere had appeared two women.

"All right, are you Sir Knightley of Pemberley?" asked one of the women who had lovely red hair peeking out from under a cap—she and her friend appeared to be wearing a sort of uniform, with big shiny stars pinned to their blue shirts.

"Yes . . ." he said slowly. "Is there anything I can do for you two?"

The girls looked at each other with big smiles. "Well, sir, I'm afraid Maddie and I will have to take you downtown," said the redhead again.

"What?" asked Knightley.

The Maddie-girl walked up to him with a smile. "Well, Knightley, my dearest darling little cuddly-poo, I'm afraid you're being investigated by the Police . . . we're going to have to arrest you!"

"What for?" he asked Maddie.

"Well," said Maddie seductively, "you're being charged with being far too cute for your own good!"

Spring laughed. "That's great, Maddie!" she said gaily, then turned back to Knightley with forced serious.

"Indeed, Sir Knightley, you are quite a looker . . . tell me, have a girlfriend? a wife? a significant other?" asked Spring.

"Uh . . . no," said Knightley hesitantly.

"Well!" said Spring with a happy grin, "we're definitely going to have to take you to my pl—I mean, downtown."

He then smiled a bit. He couldn't believe it—two girls who wanted him! Not Darcy, not Sir Colonel, they wanted him! He was tired of always watching as other men got the 'laurels' while he was left lonely. He was never the star, he was always left as second-best, never got all the girls for himself. He was quite happy that for once, he was the star, and so he was quite willing to submit him to these pretty girls.

"I guess so!" he said cheerily, and they laughed, and Maddie spoke up while Spring pulled out some handcuffs.

"You know, since you are so dangerously attractive, I think we're going to have to strip-search you . . ." she said, and they quickly hustled him into a car where he saw a lot more of the local police force . . .

Meanwhile, though, Darcy and Henry had walked along until they had found a moat, with a boat in it. They could not see through the mist, but because it was a boat with some little pen nibs carved into the sides, they figured that this was exactly what they had been looking for. The boat took them around, and when they jumped out of the boat, they saw a grand castle in front of them.

Darcy grinned. "The Castle Aaaaagh. Our quest is at an end! God be praised!" He kneeled with Sir Henry, and they began to pray.

"Almighty God, we thank Thee that Thou hast vouchsafed to us the most holy—"

Suddenly, Darcy felt something hit him on the head, and he collapsed to the ground, dead as a doornail for the present moment. Well, doornails really are not dead, because they have never been alive and they have no DNA or cellular organization, or no metabolism whatsoever, but in any case, Darcy was out cold.

After a while, just enough time from the previous present moment to the next present moment to give us time for a donut, Darcy woke up. Upon waking up, he rose his head, then dropped it back to the group with an "OUCH!" and a *Thump!* He looked around, and from the scenery that greeted him, he deduced that he was inside the Castle Aaaaagh. He tried to rise again from the floor, and this time managed to keep himself up. He began to look around, curious as to how he got here, what hit him over the head, and who dared to hit King Darcy in the head with anything?—he'd get their head for this! But in any case, he looked around.

It appeared to be a very specious and spacious castle. He noticed that there was also no one around that he could see—as he walked through the halls, the only sound he heard was the echo of his own footsteps against the stone floor. He wasn't sure where he was supposed to go or what he was supposed to do, but suddenly, out of nowhere, he saw a Sign.

The sign was very helpful. It said,

It also said,

After some deliberation, Darcy decided that the wisest move at present would be to meet this frog. So, he took the left, went two doors down, and observed that the third door was open . . . so, he went inside.

Inside the room, it was a bedchamber. There was a big bed and all other sorts of furniture inside—the whole room was decorated in a light shade of green with some blue trimmings every now and then. He went to sit down, but an alarmed Ribbit! sounded, and he jumped back and looked—there was the frog.

"Hello," said Darcy to the frog.

"Ribbit," said the frog in return.

"Do you know if this is the Castle Aaaaagh?" asked Darcy.

"Ribbit," said the frog.

"Are you an enchanted princess?" asked Darcy.

"RIBBIT!" croaked the frog.

Darcy decided to take this as a yes, and so, since he had read all the fairy tales, he kissed the frog. Sure enough, the frog began to turn into a person. It was . . .

"SIR COLONEL???" cried Darcy, greatly agitated. The two cousins looked at each other, and began spitting violently.

"Ribbit!" said Sir Colonel. Well, he really didn't say 'ribbit,' but wouldn't it have been just too funny if he would have? In any case, what really happened next was:

"Darcy, thanks!" he said sarcastically, wiping his mouth off with a hankie. "Thanks a lot, bud! Like I really needed that!"

Darcy was a bit irritated by his cousin's thanklessness, and gave him a very dirty look. "Well, thanks to you too! You're not exactly a great kisser, either! That was disgusting, yes, but now you're freed from your enchantment! You should be happy! and thankful!"

The Colonel laughed maniacally. "Thankful? Happy?—no, I am certainly NOT overjoyed to have to marry you!"

Realizing the words and their meaning, Darcy's eyes widened in horror. He screamed, and then fainted dead away . . .

Part 18

Posted on Thursday, 01-Oct-98

Author's Note: Hehehe! Enjoy!

Darcy felt hands lightly patting him on his cheeks, and he slapped the hands away. "Leave me alone, Sir Colonel!" he cried. "I don't want to marry you!"

"Sir?" asked an alarmed Sir Henry. "What do you mean?"

At the sound of this heartily familiar voice, Darcy opened his eyes. He sat up. "Sir Henry! How glad I am to see you! Tell me, are there any frogs around? Has Sir Colonel risen from the Eternal Gorge? Has the Dow fallen far?"

Sir Henry gave him a funny look. "My liege, I have not seen a frog for ages, nor Sir Colonel . . . you have been here the whole time-you were hit upon the head, and passed out-that is all . . . oh, and yes, the Dow has taken a severe hit-it's very probable we're facing a recession."

Darcy jumped up and danced gleefully around, his considerable investment in the Asian markets for the moment forgotten. "Yippee-doodle-doo! I don't have to marry my cousin! I didn't kiss a frog! Yeah!"

Suddenly, out of nowhere, came a cow!-from the skies! A familiar voice rang out . . .

Part 19

Posted on Tuesday, 06-Oct-98

Well, 'tis done. I would like to thank everyone who has responded me and encouraged me and fed my ego with your excessively flattery and comments. I would also like to thank everyone who has helped me with their comments to assure my fragile ego that my story was funny and who added helpful ideas that helped me to increase the funniness, etc. etc. etc. Also would like to thank everyone I stole ideas from, and just hope that I did my job well as your humble authoress. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart!

"Yo! Hey, you nasty English kniggets and Mr. Darcy King, who has the brain of a duck, you know. So, we American fellows outwit you a second time!"

Darcy was frustrated. "How dare you profane this place with your presence! I command you, in the name of the Knights of Pemberley, to open the doors of this sacred castle, to which our Goddess Herself has guided us!"

The American was mad. "How you English say, 'Jolly good, roger, I unclog my nose in your direction', sons of some boot-lickers! So, you think you could outsmart us American folk with your silly knees-bent running-about-and-ordering-everyone-around behavior?! I wave my hot Apple pie at your aunties, you cheesy lot of second hand cock-a-doodle-doos!"

"In the name of the Lord, we demand entrance to this sacred castle!"

"No chance, English bed-wetting types. I burst my pimples at you and call your door-opening request a silly thing, you tiny-brained wipers of other people's bottoms!"

"If you do not open this door, we shall take this castle by force!" Suddenly, rotten tomatoes came flying down.

Darcy bravely continued. "In the name of God and the glory of our—" The guards only laughed and threw more rotten grapes.

"As my fellow Americans say, 'I am not a crook!' and 'I did not have sex with that woman!' I wag my finger in your general direction!" said the American with relish.

Darcy sighed. Once again, he felt provoked to violence by their increasing silliness. "Aaaaaaagh! Right! That settles it!"

The Americans laughed in triumph. "Yes, depart at this time and cut the approaching any more, or we fire arrows at the tops of your heads and stick our tongues out at you! Ha ha haaa ha!" They continued to laugh, and Darcy took Sir Henry's arm.

"Walk away. Just ignore them," he advised.

"And now, remain gone, illegitimate-faced bugger-folk! And, if you think you got a nasty taunting this time, you ain't heard nothing yet, dappy English k-nnniggets! Thpppt!" The taunting continued faintly in the distance, and Darcy's blood boiled.

"We shall attack at once!" he cried, and Sir Henry answered.

"Yes, my liege!"

And so, Darcy cried out, "Stand by for attack!" and immediately trumpets sounded and thousands of soldiers came from over the hill. He called back in challenge, "Americans!"

The Americans continued to taunt him. ". . . Dappy!"

He ignored them as best he could and tried to make a speech that would scare the Americans and at the same time rouse the spirits of his troops. "Today the blood of many a valiant knight shall be avenged. In the name of God, . . ."

The Americans only laughed.

". . . we shall not stop our fight till each one of you lies dead and the Holy Bits of Ivory returns to those whom God has chosen!"

". . . Ha ha ha! . . ."

"Charge!" Darcy screamed, but then out of nowhere, the clouds opened and an indignant voice rang out.

FITZWILLIAM DARCY!!!!!!!

"Oh, shoot . . ." said Darcy, then stepped forward.

"Yes, Rachel?"

What have you been up to, boy? I just came back from lunch and what do I find has happened?—you've killed Sir Edward in my absence, you've throw Knightley to maniacs, and you've killed Sir Colonel Fitzwilliam!!

"So?"

SO???? After all that, you only say 'So?' All right, bud, I don't have to take this from you! You killed my Colonel, and you will discover that I have fury! and I will show it now! *Pa-zoof!*

Suddenly, out of nowhere appeared Sir Colonel.

Darcy screamed. "What? I killed you—you should be dead right now!"

The Colonel smiled. "No, no no—you threw me into the Gorge of Eternal Peril . . . they never specifically say that everyone dies down there!"

How right you are, you cute little stud muffin you! *grin* How I love you!

"And you're not so bad yourself!"

You know, you are too much for words, you little lover-boy Casanova Don Juan lookalike!

"Come on! He's not even good-looking!" whined Darcy.

Shut up, Darcy! I won't take this subordination! You'd best keep quiet—you're not on my good side. Now get in that van over there, or will I have to use force?

"Yes, ma'am!" said Darcy bitterly, and Rachel frowned.

Shut up, buddy.

And so, Darcy was tossed into the van and taken off for punishment. Rachel really wasn't sure what to do with Darcy. She quickly revoked his Kingship, because she wasn't about to let him keep that. But outside of him just being plain Mr. Darcy again, she wasn't sure. She didn't want to kill him, really, but something else . . . so, she did the smart thing. She quickly relinquished him to the care of the Guild Girls to torture with their fiction, and they were all too eager to obey.

So, after decided on this, she decided it was time to end the story, after mentioning the various fates of all the characters in the story. Take a deep breath, here goes nothing!

King Darcy became merely Mr. Darcy, and after being tickled by some energetic Guild Writers, ran back to Pemberley, where he was reunited with his wife in a very happy moment. After looking over some of the other various fates of other various characters, he decided to count his blessings instead of sheep, get while the getting was good, make like a tree and leaf, cuts his losses, and back away from the table while he was still dry, and is now hiding from all clichés.

Sir Colonel and Rachel were married, and the couple had 10 children together. Rachel is now expecting triplets, and Rachel is hoping for more boys, so she can name them eccentric things like Napoleon, Auberon, Aloysius, or even Montparnasse.

Sir Knightley, Major Maddie, and Sgt. Spring all live together now. Major Maddie and Sgt. Spring have had to keep him locked up and under their protection, since he has refused to confess. They even brought in the Spanish Inquisition, having heard of their chief weapons: fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope, and nice red uniforms. Unfortunately, although Cardinal Ximinez was rather cute, the Comfy Chair method really didn't do anything, and so they have decided to pursue a case for giving him life in prison under their guardianship, and no one has a problem with this, do they?—there's always the Soft Cushions for you! Ha-HA!

Sir Edward is still in the Gorge of Eternal Peril, with Mr. Old Man. Edmund Bertram has also joined them—Rachel, who felt like doing it, threw him in.

Sir Henry, like the Former King Darcy, went back home. He was also reunited with his wife happily. He wrote a tell-all book about his time as Darcy's Knight, and made enough money to open a fabric shop called "Sir Henry's Muslin Madness" and is know known fondly about town as "Mr. Muslin".

Ann the Enchanter also got home, and prospered. Because this is a story, we get to say that Ann met Peter Wingfield, and now he is her love-slave. Of course, she is VERY happy with this arrangement—they get to watch Packers games together, and hopefully the Packers will win the Superbowl this year—go Farve! Life would be perfect for her if only her Enchanting self could fix cars, because that scraping noise when she makes tight right-hand turns is starting to bother her . . .

Henry Crawford, former Rake who formerly said 'Fwood', is a very busy man. He has spent much time at his local meetings of Crossdressers Anonymous to get over his addiction. Marie L got tired of Mr. Yates' hair, and came back to try and help her Henry overcome his fixation. They have great hopes of his eventual recovery, especially since he has given up eating poisonous mushrooms.

As to the other Rakes who formerly said 'Fwood', well, they're all doing all right. They managed to recover and have started up some really keen barouche races—they are the sponsors of the Fwood 500, and the Rakes' 690. They have joined up with John Thorpe, Seller of Used Barouches, and they are making lots of money, but spending a lot, so you see how it evens out. My theory—Rakes will be Rakes.

The Republic of Pemberley, having lost Darcy as its King, has found a new Lord Liege in Bill, His Majestic and Meritorious Monarchship, The Emperor of the Middle Kingdom of Sarcasm, The Holy Seer of Sardonic Words, The Jester of Justifiable Jibes, The Mage of Magnificent Duds, The Bill of You Have No Rights, Robin of the Witty Hood, and King of Korn! His Highness of Haiku, Exalted Emperor of the Enigmatic, Commander of Cryptic Quotes, Sovereign of Spoonerisms, Most Magnificent Majesty of the Metaphysical Metaphor, His Most Loverly of Lordships, Founder of the Order of Warthogs, Presenter and Keeper of The PWT, King Willem the Witty! Of course, he is very popular and all approve of his reign.

Sir Edward's Minstrels, The Troubadours, have done very well for themselves. They currently have out one album—Brave Sir Edward, which have both done very well, and have second album, And There Was Much Rejoicing, in the works that promises to be very good.

The girls from the Castle Admiration are also prospering. They have set up a time-share upon the premises, and are making lots of money. However, one of the girls, Dr. Lise, was rather disillusioned by the concept and packed up her bags and jumped ship onto another ship, and jumped from that one to another that took her to Spain where she married a matador and has since become widowed. She is now traveling to Siberia, where she is occupied in swimming the rivers there. Her next plan is to swim from Sestos to Abydos and successfully avoid the ague.

Frank Churchill, Jedi Knight is also successful. After his duel with the former King Darcy, he went to Chamberlayne's Salon for a neater trim, and there he got some nice gels and made the acquaintance of Sister Meesh, who was very happy to meet him. They now share a thriving friendly relationship and he has come to terms with his feminine side.

Since Sister Meesh has moved in with Frank Churchill, Sister Katt has been rather lonesome. So, one day, she decided to take a journey to Israel, but ended up on the boat to Constantinople, and while there met a man named Wallaby from Comb Magnet, who took her back to England with him to start a mission there . . . in any case, she met a Prince William and since has realized that she is definitely into Protestantism and now is Lady Katt, thank you very much.

Anne de Bourgh, like many others, is now prospering. She and Mr. Collins are getting along very well, and Mr. Collins has become even more mellifluous in his praise of the brightest jewel of the British court. However, do not be alarmed—Anne de Bourgh is not so nosy or overbearing a patroness. If she lacks any virtue, (which you would be hard-pressed to have Mr. Collins admit) it is the virtue of patience with loquacious clergymen.

Caroline Bingley eventually woke up from her spell when a wandering cow named Reg the Cow stepped on her. Luckily, 'stepping on a person to wake them up' isn't covered in the Rules and Regulations Handbook of Knightly-Hood (Hardcover $10.99), so luckily Caroline didn't have to marry him. Still, she had to do something and since Rachel didn't really care what happened to Caroline, she ended up making her a Cabaret dancer with Mr. Elton who didn't even get in the story because in Rachel's humble opinion Sir Edward is enough weenie for her story, but since Mr. Elton is known to be a handy Cabaret dancer and so since that was inventive, that was what happened to Caroline. But Rachel also feels a note worthy note is a comment about this Cabaret act—they (The P Gees) are now on tour with The Knights of the Round Table, The Mounties, the American Knights, and the 3-Headed-Minus-1-Knight, Tom and Fanny Bertram with Mrs. E, Black Beast of Aaaaagh, serving as a sort of Magical Mystery Tour, representing the worst in culture shock.

Kat is also doing well having rejoined the modern world, and is quite an authoress herself (A shameless plug alert! Read her Pride, Prejudice, and Mid-Terms: it's coolidge beans personified!) and in our happy little world she has married Sir Ian and prospers prosperously.

Aaron Moore, while attempting a career in politics, made the acquaintance of a certain STUD, realized the charm of the lupin and now spends half of his time as a crackshot politician and the other half of his time as Aaron Moore (AKA—Dennis Moore), the ultimate lupin thief! Let's sing! (The MIDI)

Aaron Moore, Aaron Moore,
Galloping through the sward,
Aaron Moore, Aaron Moore,
And his horse Concorde!
He steals from the rich, he gives to the poor,
Mr. Moore, Mr. Moore, Mr. Moore!

Aaron Moore, Aaron Moore,
Riding through the night.
Soon every lupin in the land
Will be in his mighty hand
He steals them from the rich
And gives them to the poor
Mr Moore, Mr Moore, Mr Moore!

Aaron Moore, Aaron Moore,
Riding through the woods.
Aaron Moore, Aaron Moore
With a bag of things.
He gives to the poor and he takes from the rich
Aaron Moore, Aaron Moore, Aaron Moore.

Aaron Moore, Aaron Moore
Riding through the land
Aaron Moore, Aaron Moore
Without a merry band
He steals from the middle-class, gives to the poor!
Aaron Moore, Mr. Moore, etc etc etc . . .

Aaron Moore, Aaron Moore,
Dum dum dum the night.
Aaron Moore, Aaron Moore,
Dum de dum dum plight.
He steals dum dum dum
And dum dum dum dum dum deeee
Aaron dum
Aaron dee
Dum dum dum . . .

Haha! After such levity, let's continue!

Hmm . . . who else? Well, at this point all the of the copyrighted characters, such as Ken Shabby, The Villagers, The Colonel, (no, not that Colonel, the other one!) Darth Vader, and Etc etc etc, got taken back without a by-your-leave! Marius Nathaniel-Daniel Fitzwilliam Darcy Jean-Paul-Pierre-Prouvaire-Voltaire Michelle (ma belle) Arthur Peuty Cromwell Wellesley Napoleon Bonapart Alexander-the-Great George Gordon Noel Coward Byron (6th Baron Byron of Rochdale) Theodore Pompadour Singapore Biggus Dickus Wolfgangus Amadeus Johannes Sebastian Bach Ludwig van Kenneth Charles Branagh Frederick-Benedick "Frits" Grantaire-Combeferre-Montparnasse (pronounced Raymond Luxury-Yacht) was not taken, except for his Raymond Luxury-Yacht bit, and is continuing to have a successful narrative career, and is under consideration for becoming the Eighth Wonder of the Modern World, just because they can't believe anyone was that stupid as to give him such a long name!

Any other character whose fate was not so lucky as to be documented here is out of luck, because Rachel is running out of creative fates. Still, feel free to imagine all sorts of various odd ends for all of them, except for one last one . . .

Jane Austen, AKA—Goddess, Serene Highness, Madam Authoress—long ago found some Bits of Ivory and Persuasion has been finished long ago, so obviously Darcy's quest was rather pointless . . . which, come to think of it, means that this whole story is rather pointless too! Oh, well.

Finis.

Note: No character/animal was seriously wounded during the writing of this story, although I admit that Edmund Bertram did get a bruise and Sir Henry got a hangnail, but that's hardly MY fault, is it?