|
||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||
 |
 | Blogs > gowerboy > thoughtsfromtheedge > Mook and the Giant: Part the Second. |
|
|||
|
“Sire?” “Yes, Tom?” “When are we going back home?” “I told you already, Tom. This will be our last task. Once this is done, we will have fulfilled the debt owed by our sovereign to the king of these lowlands, and be able to return home.” “I can’t wait to get back, sire. Venturing in foreign lands is well and good, but the speech is barbaric and the food worse. I swear, if I have to eat chopped, fried roots with mired knees again, I’ll hurl.” “It’s not ‘mired knees’, Tom. It’s ‘mare neighs’. Although what that white sludge has to do with horses, I dread to think.” The flatlands lay all around the knight and his squire, as Mook and Tom rode towards the River Scheldt. They had spent the last six months serving the King of the Low Countries on behalf of their liege-lord, the Bear King of the Britons. Now that their time was nearly up they had been sent to settle a disputed river crossing on the Scheldt. As far as Mook could gather, a man of outsized stature and strength had monopolised the ferry business and the local populace had complained to their king. The royal advisers had assured Mook that it was a simple matter. A little low level diplomacy, a few quiet threats and home in time for tea. Mook had his doubts, but then, he always did. The two riders entered a sprawling village and made their way to the central square. A desultory market was under way, but many stalls were empty and those that were in use boasted few goods. Some of the more finely dressed traders came to greet them. One bore a tarnished chain of office, and spoke thusly, “Where are the rest of you?” “The rest of who?” replied Mook. “The rest of the company sent to deliver us from that bloodthirsty giant Druoon Antigoon.” “Er…sire?” stuttered Tom. “Yes, Tom. I heard him say ‘bloodthirsty giant’ too,” said Mook, then to the alderman, “My squire, Tom, and I, as representatives of the king of this realm, are here to resolve the disputed river crossing. I assume your good selves are the plaintiffs, but where is the defendant?” “The defendant?” the alderman’s tone was mocking, “There is no defendant! We want to be rid of that murderous giant and his extortions. He lives not far from here, on the banks of the river. Kill him and have done with it!” Mook sighed. Things were turning out as he had thought they would. It was obviously going to take more than a quiet word in a few ears to sort this situation. Nudging his horse onwards he passed through the marketplace and headed towards the river. Tom followed wordlessly, although his face betrayed a thousand questions, most of which started with ‘bloodthirsty giant’ and ended in ‘get the hell out of here’. Behind Tom straggled a line of villagers led by the alderman and his councillors. Torn between curiosity and fear, they kept their distance as Mook approached the giant’s shack. “Drown Auntiegown!” cried Mook loudly, if not accurately, “I am the King’s Man, sent to bring an end to this dispute. Come out, that we may talk.” “That’s a bloody big door,” whispered Tom, half to himself, “I could ride through it with you standing on my shoulders, sire, no-disrespect-intended-sire, and to be honest, I think that reinforcements would be a really good idea, sire, if-you-don’t-mind-me-saying-sire.” “Calm down, Tom,” said Mook blandly, “Let’s see the lie of the land before we start calling out the Praetorian Guard.” The door of the shack slammed open, and out of the gloom swaggered Druoon Antigoon. He was as tall as three men and as wide as five. Grown fat from his rich pickings, his belly bounced and rolled as he walked. His tunic was smeared with blood and grease, and in his right hand he dangled a broad bladed sword like a dagger. He blinked in the light, yawned, scratched an armpit, farted and spat on the ground. “Impressive,” said Mook. Tom began to whine quietly. ______________________________________________ If you have enjoyed this instalment of the latest adventure of Mook, you might like to catch up on earlier tales, such as: A Knight's Tale - wherein we meet Mook, a knight of Camelot, and his trusty squire Tom. And all because the lady loves... The Trials of Mook. Happy reading. |
||
 5/8/2008 11:52 am |
I like Mook..my type of guy, well i think he is going to be...as for 'Tom'..well i can't wait to read more...oh just noticed the links....hmmm i know what i will be doing tonight now...
| ||
5/8/2008 1:30 pm |
well best i give up bloging then, wow whats it all about if you cant have a laugth and a shag every now and then
| ||
5/8/2008 1:58 pm |
Patiently waiting for part three! I like this Mook guy...
| ||
5/8/2008 5:38 pm |
*presently having frites and mayo, washed down with coffee* I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho Dog instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.
| ||
5/9/2008 7:41 am |
I like Mook..my type of guy, well i think he is going to be...as for 'Tom'..well i can't wait to read more...oh just noticed the links....hmmm i know what i will be doing tonight now... *cue canned laughter*
| ||
5/9/2008 7:42 am |
well best i give up bloging then, wow Us British bloke bloggers living in Spain are a rare breed. Talking of rare breeds, have you seen Tone recently?
| ||
5/9/2008 7:43 am |
Patiently waiting for part three! I like this Mook guy... Union rules. No writing at the weekend.
| ||
5/9/2008 7:46 am |
*presently having frites and mayo, washed down with coffee* I was going to offer you a waffle to go with the coffee, but then I realised that waffle is not something us two lack.
| ||
5/9/2008 9:28 am |
Done like a true Belgian. I was going to offer you a waffle to go with the coffee, but then I realised that waffle is not something us two lack. (Said I in my best Hercule Poirot impersonation) I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho Dog instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.
| ||
5/9/2008 11:22 am |
"Mon ami, a bit more whipped cream on this waffle, if you please." (Said I in my best Hercule Poirot impersonation)
| ||
5/9/2008 11:30 am |
can't wait the next part happy week end 
| ||
5/9/2008 6:36 pm |
"Mais oui, ma cherie, remind me where we keep the whip again." "Mon dieu, m'sieur! I never would have thought you subscribed to such predilections. How hard shall I hit?" I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho Dog instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.
| ||
5/10/2008 2:01 am |
Ah, we get to the showdown...great. Will read part 3 later  Blog Muse2u 
| ||
5/12/2008 4:22 am |
ok, I'm hooked. Thanks for the links.
| ||
5/12/2008 7:34 am |
can't wait the next part happy week end hope you had a good weekend too
| ||
5/12/2008 7:40 am |
*Gasp* "Mon dieu, m'sieur! I never would have thought you subscribed to such predilections. How hard shall I hit?"
| ||
5/12/2008 7:41 am |
Ah, we get to the showdown...great. Will read part 3 later
| ||
5/12/2008 7:42 am |
ok, I'm hooked. Thanks for the links.
| ||
5/14/2008 2:36 am |
"Sacre bleu! It is I who hit you (doucement, bien sur)." I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho Dog instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.
| ||
5/14/2008 3:05 am |
You actually sound like a kinky Pepe Le Pew.
| ||
5/14/2008 4:39 am |
You mean Pepe wasn't kinky? Spank the skunk--you're right, it IS quite kinky. I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho Dog instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.
| ||
5/14/2008 6:57 am |
I never knew he was into spanking. All that l'amour nonsense and all he really wanted was some funky whipping. Spank the skunk--you're right, it IS quite kinky. Reminds me of an entry in Roger Melly's Profanisaurus.... (Roger Melly - the man on the telly, is a character from the comic "Viz" that we used to read as students, it's still published but is not as good as it used to be when I was a lad...blah....blah...blah...) ....to snarl at the badger. (I'll leave the definition up to your imagination).
| ||
5/14/2008 8:38 am |
Spank the skunk, kinky indeed. Reminds me of an entry in Roger Melly's Profanisaurus.... (Roger Melly - the man on the telly, is a character from the comic "Viz" that we used to read as students, it's still published but is not as good as it used to be when I was a lad...blah....blah...blah...) ....to snarl at the badger. (I'll leave the definition up to your imagination). *snork* I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho Dog instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.
| ||
5/14/2008 11:22 am |
I've got delicate asian sensibilities, if you must know--and quite a limited imagination. *snork*
| ||
5/15/2008 3:27 am |
Is it my imagination, or did your nose just get a little longer in your photo? (Presses schnoz down surreptitiously) I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho Dog instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.
| ||
5/15/2008 7:47 am |
Um, it's your imagination. (Presses schnoz down surreptitiously) My family uses it, I use it, but when I see it written down, I crack up. I've got tears in my eyes here.
| ||
 |
 |
 |
| Become a member to comment on this blog | ||
 |
|
