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 | Blogs > gowerboy > thoughtsfromtheedge > And all because the lady loves... |
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It was a dark and stormy night. It was England, it was wintertime, the sun had set; it was always going to be a dark and stormy night. Mook wrapped his cloak more tightly around his body. Rain poured pitilessly down the back of his neck. He was soaked to the bone. At least he had elected not to wear full plate armour, wisely surmising that the last thing he wanted was to find himself in a tight spot, unable to move for rust. His chain mail shirt clinked wetly as he trudged across the moor. This was not a night for a knight errant to be out and erranting about. This was a night for roaring fires and mulled wine and the company of friends. Mook wondered who would be in The Slaughtered Lamb tonight. Gawain certainly. When he wasn’t questing, he was drinking. Parsifal, Roland and Guy would be playing at skittles, badly as usual. Perhaps even Tom and some of the other squires would be taking advantage of a night off from polishing armour and be at the bar, loudly boasting of their latest exploits in a not always vain attempt to impress the serving maids. Mook grinned, remembering when he had been squire to Sir Hector. The quick-tempered old knight had been a good master, even when raging and foaming at the mouth. Once you learned to ignore all the oaths and expletives, you could pick up a lot of useful information. Mook sighed. This was the worst part, the approach. Horses feared the moor and would not set hoof on it. The only way to get to Castle Craven was on foot and at night. At night because for some curious, and undoubtedly arcane reason, the castle did not exist during the day, at least, not in the dimension that Mook liked to call home. And there it was. Castle Craven. The low battlements hugged the hillside like a squat toad, bloated and immovable. A single tower rose from inside the walls, lit by the occasional torch and the lightning that still split the sky. Mook checked his pack. Rope, grappling hook, skeleton key, piece of chalk, half eaten sandwich, spare cloak, dry underwear and a Swiss mercenary knife. Something was missing. Mook growled. He always forgot something, but what was it this time? He went through his mental checklist once more. Walls – rope and hook; door to tower – skeleton key (opens 90% of all enchanted portals according to the sales wizard); in case of labyrinthine tunnel system – piece of chalk; chafing thighs due to wet undies – dry underwear; hypothermia – spare cloak; in case of munchies – half a sandwich. That seemed like everything, but still a nagging doubt remained. Mook shrugged. Time would tell. Castle Craven’s guards were of the undead variety. Mainly zombies. All very well in a keep-on-coming-even-though-you-chopped-my-arm-off kind of way, but pretty useless at quick sprints and taking the initiative. So, when Mook coughed loudly at one end of the battlements, all the guards shuffled over to investigate, allowing Mook to double back to where they had come from. The well practiced throw-tug-step-and-heave routine with the rope and hook quickly saw him inside the castle grounds. He crossed the compound to the base of the tower like liquid shadow and halted at the door. No sounds of alarm. He had remained undiscovered. Inserting the key in the lock, he gave it a clockwise turn. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing. He cursed. Trust his luck to find one of the ten percent. In frustration he turned the key anti-clockwise, towards the lock. The door clicked open. Mook had never understood why some locks turned the wrong way, but now was not the time to ponder such things and he slipped inside. The stairwell curled up into the smoky shadows. Mook’s soft leather boots, now muddy and soaking wet, made an uncomfortably loud squishing echo as he ascended. He took a sputtering torch from its bracket on the wall. What he sought was in the topmost room of the tower. As he passed each landing, doors led off in every direction. Taking any one of them, Mook knew, would lead to insanity or death. The doors whispered at him as he climbed. Some promised riches beyond imagining, others power beyond compare. Strangely, some offered things that Mook found a little repulsive, but it took all sorts he supposed. Finally, he stood outside the single door on the top floor of the tower. The whispering had ceased. Mook pushed the door open silently and stepped inside. It was a bedroom. His eyes were immediately drawn to the bed where lay a young woman. Crossing to the bedside, he knelt and took the woman’s hand in his own. It was cold as a winter’s dawn. Reaching out, he placed his other hand upon her brow. She stirred, as if trying to awaken from a bad dream. Suddenly, the words of his master, Hector, came echoing to him from across the years, “Gods damn you, you dolt! How many times have I told you? When you go to rescue a maid held under an enchanted sleep, always remember to take chocolates. You can’t expect to awaken a girl from a hundred year nap and not have some choccies for the lady, can you?” Okay...right...now then. Mook swallowed, desperately trying to think of a solution. Somehow he knew that a half eaten sandwich (filling uncertain) was not going to do the trick. |
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 11/20/2007 10:14 am |
Sometimes we'll settle for peanut butter cups. Or a cup of hot coffee brought to us. And what 'it takes all sorts' really meant. Methinks this isn't sleeping beauty's castle. Poise is the art of raising eyebrows instead of the roof.
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11/20/2007 10:46 am |
Laughing at this one.......great writing Gowerboy, and such a good lesson!!!!!!!!! Never leave home to meet your love (or maid) without a box of chocolates!!! Believe me: every time Misty arrives here, or I'm leaving for Vancouver I carry a box of chocolates with me.
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11/20/2007 12:18 pm |
Chocolate did some-one mention chocolate Melt. Flow. Evaporate into the bright sky 
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11/20/2007 1:38 pm |
The little things versus the big picture...a matter of estimation... You know, I like your prose even more than your poetry. Love, SL Keep love in your heart ! SL
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11/20/2007 3:32 pm |
wot no cadburys dairy milk  thanks for reading and as per Dave Allen "May your God go with you"
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11/20/2007 7:15 pm |
Turn the page please! Oh, may I use this line in my profile? "Once you learned to ignore all the oaths and expletives, you could pick up a lot of useful information."
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11/20/2007 7:31 pm |
*links arms with noone... stomps around blog impatiently waiting for more Mook* Peace .. elaine67
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11/21/2007 7:09 am |
Sometimes we'll settle for peanut butter cups. Or a cup of hot coffee brought to us. And what 'it takes all sorts' really meant. Methinks this isn't sleeping beauty's castle. of strange and wonderful weasels...I mean, people.
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11/21/2007 7:11 am |
Laughing at this one.......great writing Gowerboy, and such a good lesson!!!!!!!!! Never leave home to meet your love (or maid) without a box of chocolates!!! Believe me: every time Misty arrives here, or I'm leaving for Vancouver I carry a box of chocolates with me. when I was in Brussels last year...boy, those Belgians might not be the most interesting people on the planet, but they do make good chocolate.
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11/21/2007 7:12 am |
Chocolate did some-one mention chocolate
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11/21/2007 7:13 am |
The little things versus the big picture...a matter of estimation... You know, I like your prose even more than your poetry. Love, SL
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11/21/2007 7:13 am |
wot no cadburys dairy milk
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11/21/2007 7:14 am |
Turn the page please! Oh, may I use this line in my profile? "Once you learned to ignore all the oaths and expletives, you could pick up a lot of useful information." The line is yours.
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11/21/2007 7:15 am |
*links arms with noone... stomps around blog impatiently waiting for more Mook* expect me to concentrate?
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11/21/2007 6:28 pm |
Why do I keep thinking of sequined vests? (I pass you a dark choccy jaffa cake from Marks and Sparks, since I always have those about) I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho Dog instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.
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11/21/2007 10:18 pm |
Im getting picky these days ,only " Lindt " please..Schmeckt WUNDERBAR!!!!! Remember..live each day as it comes..it may be your last!!!xx " NAMASTE"
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11/21/2007 11:18 pm |
Agrees with S.L All but the chocolate I can't stand the stuff.. Yuk Measure outside yourself.
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11/22/2007 6:32 am |
Why do I keep thinking of sequined vests? (I pass you a dark choccy jaffa cake from Marks and Sparks, since I always have those about) nor a Terry's Chocolate Orange (just tap and unwrap...yeah, right). How's your Clark Gable impersonation?
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11/22/2007 6:33 am |
Im getting picky these days ,only " Lindt " please ..Schmeckt WUNDERBAR!!!!!
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11/22/2007 6:35 am |
Agrees with S.L All but the chocolate I can't stand the stuff.. Yuk be presented with on being awoken then?
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11/22/2007 7:10 am |
Jaffa Cakes...haven't had one of those in ages, nor a Terry's Chocolate Orange (just tap and unwrap...yeah, right). How's your Clark Gable impersonation? I've developed dyslexia, it appears. How's your little monotreme? I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho Dog instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.
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11/22/2007 8:28 am |
Gone with the wind, unfortunately. I've developed dyslexia, it appears. How's your little monotreme? Dyslexia is a trait common to royalty. Which was probably just as well in the case of Cnut. The little monotreme is holing up for the winter.
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11/23/2007 10:58 pm |
A smile tells the tale Measure outside yourself.
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11/26/2007 3:45 am |
A smile tells the tale
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