It is the evening of the Day of Peasant Appeasement, the Month of the Red Moon, in the Year of our Lord 67 and 2. Our heroes have found their way to the village of Alders' Whook, where their new companion Triskal Farfetch, the self-styled Mouse Prince, has arranged for them to meet a sage who might aid them in their quest for the Blue Lotus Flower. A plaguey evening sunlight skims the roofs of peasant huts as the party near their destination, a stout two-storied building of wood and stone. A weathered plaque which swings from an iron rod above the door of the establishment colourfully depicts a staggering, bow-legged man waving a rusty sword about belligerently as he crashes into a wall of mead barrels. Dirty, dull red alphabets beneath the tableaux declare that our heroes have arrived at The Drinking Bandit Inn. Gudo [pulling off his helmet and noisily breathing in great lungfuls of air]. O' golden honey-basted boar, Trapped and poached against the law, Thou lovely roasting smell I can't ignore - Innkeep, serve me one or two or eight or more! Fabian the Innkeeper [yelling off into the kitchen]. Eight boars poached from the Lord's wood this morning for the hungry knight and his companions! Will there be more for you, sirrahs? This happy day of peasant appeasement do we offer for a reasonable, across-the-table sum of four florins: [reciting] Peppered eggs of royal quail Stolen mead and wine and ale Pumpkin shaped like Gordon's goitre And a single pearl without the oyster Grig. The pearl! The pearl! I'll take the pearl! Fabian. Ha-ha, I am sorry, sirrah... that last item was but a jest for the sake of rhyme. Grig [incensed]. Thou foolish prankish fool! Thou straw-haired grinning ghoul Thou demon-handled tool Thou... thou... thou.. Mool! Gudo [guffawing but soothingly]. There there O' righteous angered bard, Thou taketh common jests too hard Can it be our innkeep meant you ill, When 'tis our coin that fills his till? Grig. But 'twas a poor rhyme he made, Gudo - Gudo [in resigned tones]. Aye, aye, Grig, yours are still the best... Triskal [uneasily]. My rodent wisdom with Sir Grig concurs Our boorish host doth play a silly game Just like the cat who with caught mice demurrs And leaves them frightened witless, dazed or lame. [nervously] But more my sharpened senses now do pierce - Unholy quiet of the dusk outside, Yon moon-faced maid with mein so very fierce Do serveth up an egg that's o'er-fried! [highly agitated] These bodings ill must mean a greater doom With blood and rain and howling stalking dead! The walls... they move... they close upon this room! 'Tis not my time to sleep in Seela's* bed! [hysterically] Oh, fly! Let's take ourselves to sacred ground Or the great Demon-Cat Kareesh will pounce upon us all and tear our living souls from our quivering screaming bodies! haaaaaghhhh!.. haaaaaaieeeee!!.... [Exeunt Triskal in mad panic, never to be seen again. Enter staggering a tall bent elder in a worn brown smock] Ashab [yelling after the departed mouse]. Hey! Watch where you're going! Damn rats... neighbourhood's going all to Hell, Fabian... Fabian [reciting absently while clearing mugs from a table]. "... and comes the day the moon will runneth red the priests who pray do serve a god of Dread the wells will dry, a witch will seek redeeming the mouse will from my inn run crazed and screaming and a hey nonny-no." Ashab. Hah! Sounds just like last year, dunnit, Fabian? Remember last year?... we had that drought started, then my wife come back to me, and that fat lazy cat of yours finally do manage to chase a rat out of here? Hah! And did the world end? Eh? Eh?! All but tells you one thing, Fabian... never trust a prophecy. Fabian. Aye, Master Ashab, doubtless you are right. Now, what brings you to my humble place of business this eve? Ashab. Hmmm... can't quite remember, meself. As I can recall, 'twas something someone wanted to know, as it were pertaining to my special field of expertise. A question it were intimated that only I could answer. Hrrrmmm. Can't at the moment recall my perticular scholarly balliwick either. What do you suppose it could be, eh, Fabian? Fabian. You are a flower-seller, Master Ashab. Ashab. Oh, ah, that's right. It's coming back now... can just about remember it. White Rose of Harg's Range? The Red and Emerald Dahlias? The Magical Lion-Faced Tiger Lily?... Fabian. Mayhap it is the Blue Lotus Flower? Ashab. Ah! Of course! The Blute Lotus Flower... The fabled Banisher of Demons and Witches. Once rare and now unique, only to be found at... at... that grassy wood place... with trees... near... about...on the left side... Help me out here, Fabian... Fabian. Two miles down the road in evil Sir Drick's orchard? Ashab. Ach! That be it exactly, Fabian. Now be a good man and get me a flagon of ale so that I may drink to forget. Ah, Fabian, a sharp and clear mind such as mine is no friend to a man who has a weight like that of my wife's on his shoulders. The witch!... weigh more than twenty stone... damn her eyes... [starts sobbing uncontrollably] [Gudo and Grig pause from their meal, looking at each other; they have been listening attentively to the exchange] Gudo. Why this quest will soon be ended We'll be wined and dined and well stipended. Let's find this Drick and face his glower Then run him through and steal his flower! Grig. Noble men for noble tasks! We shan't have need to don our masks. This loathsome Drick must be some cad, An evil lord with a wife who's mad. [shudders] Gudo. Our plan is clear as honeyed beer: My flashing sword will know no peer, Whilst you with stealthy creeping force Effect for man and bloom a quick divorce! ... and with unbridled enthusiasm, our heroes jump to their feet and go to their rooms to sleep [* Seela: the Goddess of Torpor That Leads To Eternal Sleep] copyright 1997 Gerald Tan & Nigel Poh Click on the dragon to proceed with the tale... ... the dagger to go to the previous page ... and the snoozing gnome to return to the Home Page. Currently playing Ernesto Lecuona's "Malaguena".