Wednesday, 17 March 2010

Over To You - Entry The Third

And we head into Day Three with the inspiration still rolling. Today's suggestions come courtesy of the fine fellow Irish Gumbo and they read as follows:-

Name:- Roddy Slackjaw
Object:- Bronze astrolabe
Dialogue:- "Did you say 'horror' or 'whore'?"
Title:- "Heart Of Quarkness"

And so, because we're not at home to Mr Procrastination, here's what was requested:-

Heart Of Quarkness

Editor's Note:- In my attempts to document the life of my ancestor, Squire Kirk The Elder, I came across the fragment below. Sadly, despite exhaustive searching, I can find only this tantalising glimpse of the larger tale and it is that unedited yet incomplete segment which is presented here for your edification.

Part The Third

You join me, gentle reader, in the midst of an adventure of the highest peril. I realise that this is akin to saying that your humble narrator is breathing or clad in simple yet stylish attire, such is the regularity of high adventure intruding in upon one's life, but it is true nonetheless. There is a part of me that wonders whether maybe I have been cursed to live a life of drama and excitement when all this poor fellow craves is a regular seat at the Actonian Gentleman's Club and a frequently refilled snifter or two.

So you can imagine my feelings when I was rudely awakened by a dash of water to the face by the grizzled hand of Captain Roddy Slackjaw. We were still aboard the good ship Trepidation, we were still at the mercies of the dreaded Springing Shrieking Sharks of the Sixth Sea and we were still running dangerously on supplies of an refreshingly alcoholic nature. None of these facts did anything to fill me with feelings other than utter dread. It appeared that my ill-timed loss of consciousness was not going to allow me respite from our dire predicament and that I would indeed have to sit through the noisy horror of our imminent shriek-filled demise.

Suddenly a noise far more dreadful than the anticipatory shrieks of the starving sharks reached our ears. Dreadful that is for the sharks, for it was the sound of their only natural predator, the Giant Ululating Octopus (and trust me, if you have never heard an octopus ululate then you are fortunate indeed). We used this diversion as the perfect excuse to make good our escape, taking advantage of an equally fortuitous change in wind. We were once again bound for the island of Quarkness and fully engaged on our quest to retrieve the Bronze Astrolabe of Nostradamus.

As the wind filled our sails and the sounds of Shrieking Shark being loudly devoured by Ululating Octopus carried nauseatingly to our ears, Captain Slackjaw muttered something to me about our intended destination. My spirits temporarily rose and yet some inner instinct caused me to check what he had just said before giving in too fully to potential elation.

"Did you say 'horror' or 'whore'?" enquired I, rather foolishly as it turned out for the much clearer reiteration of his previous utterance caused my spirits to plummet once again to the slough of despond.

"One day'" I thought to myself as I gently allowed unconsciousness to take over and Captain Slackjaw made ready with the water, "I will have that quiet life I so dearly crave." Sadly, dear reader, I was mistaken...

To Be Continued

Editor's Note:- No further reference can be found to this tale in any of the remainder of the good Squire's writing.

Ah, it felt good to have a brief visit from the Squire again after a long absence. What will tomorrow bring? Well, you know how to find out, don't you? That's right, invent a time machine and nip forward to the future thereby enabling you to read tomorrow's entry without all that tedious waiting about for time to pass.


Lady Euphoria Deathwatch said...

Hi Baldy,

Thank you for that all to brief look into your ancestry. It was an exciting and thrilling tail, ending in that woe-begotten-ness we all know and love about your family tree.

I didn't get sea sick at all.

Keep up the good work.


That Baldy Fella said...

Lady E - Ah my poor ancestor. All he ever wanted was to be left in a gin-sodden haze, gently warming himself on a hot strumpet...

Irish Gumbo said...

Bravo, good sir! Well done, and most intriguing.

One can only hope that some continuation, some fragment of text will surface, that we may learn more the journey!