The Knights of Tortall and the Holy Grail
By Caspian Nyghtvision
======================================
Part Two
Disclaimer: (Bruised-looking HERALD staggers up and blows squeakily on half-squashed HORN.) Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye. Nyghtvision doth not own anything. Most of the dialogue doth belong to Monty Python, and the characters doth belong to Tamora Pierce. (looks up as SHADOW looms overhead) AAH! NO! NOT THE-- (Giant FOOT comes down from SKY and flattens him again. Which of course our lady Nyghtvision doth not own.)
=================================
From the swirling mists of legend, dramatic music played as a castle emerged --
"Hold it! HOLD IT!" The music distorted and wound down to silence, and the image froze on the screen. A short woman stormed onto the set, violet eyes flashing, waving a sword around with absolutely no respect for the cameras. "Where's the person in charge here?" the Lioness snapped, looking around dangerously.
The cameramen and actors cowered. As one, they stepped aside and pointed to a crouched figure in the corner. Pink feathers swirled about the small, huddled form, and it prattled obliviously to itself. Alanna the Lioness strode forward and blinked. The figure was a young woman, even shorter than herself, with chestnut hair going in all directions, who was slapping a large pink flamingo with a plastic spork for all she was worth. "Steal my coffee, will you? Freaking flamingos..." the girl chattered as she sporked the bird.
Alanna coughed. When the annoyingly young director looked up, she crossed her eyes to look at the sword leveled in front of her nose. "I have heard that you are attempting a comedy. Why am I not in it?" Alanna growled, her voice like the purr of a lioness.
The director blinked and consulted her script, which conveniently appeared out of nowhere. "Um, because we don't really have a part for you to... meep." The girl trailed off as the sword pressed closer to her face. "Well, actually, we don't have a Sir Robin yet..."
Duke Roger dashed onto the set. "You said I could be Robin! You PROMISED!"
"You're Roger the Shrubber! You can't have TWO parts!"
"Daine does," the duke pointed out.
"I deserve them!" a girl's voice shouted from offscreen.
Owen popped up out of nowhere. "Jolly!"
"Can I be Lancelot?" Alanna asked hopefully.
"We've already got Lancelot." The director leafed frantically through masses of scripts and yanked out a piece of paper. "Hey. You can be..."
The rest of her sentence was cut off by the National Bureau of Cliffhangers (TM) and the fic attempted to continue.
--------------------------------------------
Tortall. 400-something Human Era. Out of the swirling mists came the sound of hoofbeats as a noble figure trotted into view, riding an imaginary horse. Behind him galloped an older man with a coconut half in each hand, banging them together to sound like hoofbeats.
The noble figure galloped up to the castle and halted. With a flourish, his servant stopped rattling the coconuts, and added a whinny for good measure.
"Whoa there," the noble figure said to his imaginary horse, and shouted up to the walls. "Hark! ... Your king has come."
From off screen, someone muttered, "That's not your line."
"... Shut up," the noble figure hissed. He tapped his foot on the ground. "Hello? Anyone up there?"
Silence, except for the mist and a faint clanking sound. Then, two figures came into view on the castle wall, adjusting their cheap prop armor and rattling their pikes. Suddenly one fell over. "Aah!"
The broad-shouldered one called down to the noble figure in a husky girl's voice. "Hold on a minute... Daine's helmet fell over her eyes and she can't see." She disappeared for a moment, then both soldiers stood at attention.
"Halt!" Keladry shouted out importantly. "Who goes there?"
"It is I, Jonathan, king of the Tortallans."
"Hee hee... turtles..." Daine snerked, trying to keep her pike straight. She fell down again. Kel ignored her, attempting to keep her dignity intact. "Who's the other one?" she shouted down.
"My faithful steed..." Jon blinked and rubbed his beard, glancing thoughtfully at his servant. "... Patsy," he decided.
"My name's not Patsy! I'm Wyldon, dammit, I've only served the realm for thirty years..."
"King Jon and his faithful steed Patsy," the king announced over the grumblings of his 'horse.'
Kel kept her face a restrained mask. "What is your business here?"
"We have ridden the length and breadth of the land, seeking knights to join my court at Corus," Jon said all in one breath. When he was done, he put his hands behind his back and rocked on his feet, looking pleased with himself.
"What? Ridden on a horse?" Kel demanded.
"Yes..." Jon answered dubiously.
"You're using coconuts!" Keladry shouted in disbelief.
"What?"
"You've got two empty halves of a coconut and you're bangin' them together!" Kel continued.
Jon looked accusingly at Wyldon. Wyldon glared at him darkly and clopped the coconuts menacingly. "So?" Jon shrugged. "We have ridden since the snows of winter covered this land..."
"Where'd you get the coconuts?" Kel asked suspiciously.
Jon looked at Wyldon again. Wyldon snorted, stamped, and whinnied sulkily. "We found them."
"Found them? In Tortall?! The coconut's tropical!" Kel shouted.
"What do you mean?"
"This is a temperate zone!"
Jon adopted a poetic stance. "The sparrow and the plover may fly south for the winter, and the penguins may seek warmer climes, yet these are not strangers to our land?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
Daine popped up, adjusting her helmet, which fell over her eyes again. "Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?"
Jon thought about it, rubbing his beard and staring off into space. Wyldon snorted and wandered off to graze. "They could be carried," Jon said decisively.
"And this man is in charge of our country?" Kel muttered. "Ye gods." She rubbed her forehead painfully.
"What, a sparrow carrying a coconut?" Daine said scornfully.
"It could grip it by the husk," Jon replied.
"It's not a question of WHERE he grips it, it's a simple matter of weight ratios, a five ounce bird cannot carry a one-pound coconut!"
"It matters not." Jon held out his hands. "Will you go and tell your master that King Jonathan is here?"
There was a slight pause. The two guards looked at him skeptically. Finally, Keladry spoke up. "Look, to maintain air-speed velocity, a sparrow has to beat its wings forty-seven times a minute, right?"
"Please!" Jonathan yelled.
"Am I right?" Kel persisted.
"I don't know!"
"Well, you should know, if you're going to force the poor bird to fetch coconuts for you."
Daine jumped in. "And even if it COULD carry the coconut, why would it want to? Sparrows are smart creatures, you know, they don't waste their time lugging coconuts around for some mad king to bang together."
"Look, never mind the coconuts," Jon tried to interrupt, but the two sparrow-loving guards weren't going to let him off that easily.
"We can't let you go on thinking that a poor little sparrow should break its back fetching you coconuts when its time could be better spent knitting or learning how to read!"
"Selfish people like you are the sole cause of illiteracy in sparrows and other small birds! Now THERE'S a weight on your conscience!"
"Forget the damn sparrows! I must speak with your lord and master!" Jon screamed.
"Forget the--?! Ye gods! Do you HEAR this man?"
"Sparrow abuser!"
"This is cruelty to animals!"
"Quick, call up the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Sparrows! This man's a menace to society!"
"Go fetch your own coconuts, you cruel, heartless, mean, nasty, ugly sparrow-abuser..."
Disgusted, Jon beckoned to his 'horse.' Wyldon gave him a long resentful look and started banging the coconuts together again. Jon pretended to mount his imaginary horse and began to ride off into the mist.
"Yeah, go away, you foul slavedriver of innocent sparrows!" Daine screamed as a parting shot. When she was sure the king was gone, she relaxed against the battlements.
Kel, however, had a perturbed look on her face, and she bit her lip in thought. Suddenly she turned to the other guard. "Daine?"
"Yes?"
"Supposing it was a Carthaki Sparrow?"
Interested, Daine frowned deeply. "Well it's possible, but Carthaki Sparrows are non-migratory. So they couldn't bring a coconut back anyway."
Kel nodded and stared off into the distance. Then she swung back to Daine. "What if two of them carried it together?"
"They'd have to have it on a line..."
"They could use a strand of creeper," Kel suggested.
"What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers?"
"Why not?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SCENE TWO
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We now follow the plot lines to a muddy, plague-ridden, mangy village. People are crawling around, eating mud, dying, writhing, or being beaten to death by nuns with large mallets.
"Hey, where's Kel?" someone hissed from offstage.
"Trying to get her armor off," another offstage person answered.
"She can't be doing that! We need a cart driver!" The first person muttered.
There was a flurry of whispering from backstage as the two people consulted.
"Him?" The second person raised their voice. "We can't use HIM! He's DEAD!"
"We have to! All of our cast extras are completely plastered from that party last night!"
"Well, we could always use Numair..."
"He's locked himself in the bathroom again because he didn't like the way the flying purple llamas were looking at him. And Owen's been arrested for Illegal Repeated Use of the Word 'Jolly.' There aren't any other extras, we have no choice!"
"Dang," the second person muttered. "You're right."
"Call up the Black God and ask if we can borrow him again."
A few minutes later, Alex of Tirragon stomped reluctantly onto the set, grumbling about 'five-minute resurrections' and 'I always have to play the bit-parts.' He grabbed a wheelbarrow loaded with dead bodies and wandered around the village, beating a small gong.
"Bring out your dead!" Alex shouted randomly. "Bring out your dead!"
Neal staggered out of a house, carrying a limp body over his shoulder. "This was supposed to be Kel's part but she says she's stuck," he gasped. Alex looked at him blankly. "... Who's Kel...?"
"Never mind."
"All right," Alex shrugged. "Bring out your dead!" he yelled.
"Here, I've got one," Neal said, pointing at the limp body over his shoulder.
"All right, that'll be six dollars."
"What are dollars?"
"I have no idea."
"I haven't got any of those. But here, you can have this coin," Neal offered. Alex looked at it and nodded. "All right. Put him in the cart."
"But I'm not dead!" the body squealed.
"What?" Alex asked, confused.
"Nothing, nothing. Shut up, Merric." Neal grinned sheepishly at Alex. "Well, here you go..."
"I'm not quite dead yet!"
"Well, look," Neal scolded. "You'll be dead in a minute. You're on your way out."
"No, no, I'm starting to feel better," Merric gasped, attempting to wriggle free.
"Nonsense, you're dying, you're shuffling off this mortal coil, on your way to joining the bleeding choir invisible. If I didn't have you in a deadlock you'd be pushing up daisies. You're dead, mate, you're dead. Now go on the cart." Neal attempted to shove the redhead into the wheelbarrow, but Merric clung to his shoulder.
"I'm not dead!"
"Here now, he says he isn't dead," Alex objected.
Neal laughed nervously. "Yes he is."
"No, I'm not!"
"You will be soon. You're very ill," Neal told the dead body.
"I'm getting better!" Merric kicked feebly.
"No you're not. You'll be stone dead in a minute." Neal tried again to stuff him into the cart, but Alex held up a hand.
"I can't take him like this. It's against regulations."
"Oh, come on. Look at him. He's dead."
"Hey, don't tell ME what a dead body looks like! You forget that I'm dead myself! Alanna killed me!" Alex argued.
Neal blinked at him cluelessly.
"Never mind," Alex sighed.
"You're not dead either," Merric said weakly, poking his head up. Neal grabbed his head and pushed it back down.
"Can you please take him?"
"I don't want to go on the cart!" Merric gasped.
"Oh, don't be such a baby."
"I can't take him like that," Alex replied, shaking his head.
"I feel fine!"
"Do me a favor?" Neal wheedled.
"No."
"Well, can you just hang around a few minutes? He won't be long."
Alex shook his head again. "I promised I'd be at Pirate's Swoop. They lost nine today."
"I think I'll go for a walk..." Merric attempted.
"You're not fooling anyone, you know," Neal told him. To Alex, he asked pleadingly, "Isn't there anything you can do?"
The redhead on his shoulder began singing unrecognizably. "I feel happy... I feel happy..."
Neal and Alex exchanged furtive looks, then looked shiftily up and down the street. Alex whipped out a club, out of nowhere, really. There was a quick bonk, and the singing abruptly stopped.
Neal handed over the money. "Thanks a lot mate, I owe you one."
"Well, it won't be much good, I'm dead." Alex put the money in his hip pouch. "See you Thursday."
Suddenly the villagers stopped writhing and kneeled in the mud. Neal and Alex promptly bowed their heads as the sound of hoofbeats grew closer and closer. King Jonathan rode by on a magnificent imaginary steed, with Wyldon behind him, carrying all the luggage and banging his coconuts together.
Neal blinked when he had passed. "Who was that?"
"Must have been a king."
"How do you figure that?"
"Because the script said so..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CASPIAN NYGHTVISION STRIKES AGAIN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Coming up next: Possibly my favorite scene in the whole movie, the Constitutional Peasants...
By Caspian Nyghtvision
======================================
Part Two
Disclaimer: (Bruised-looking HERALD staggers up and blows squeakily on half-squashed HORN.) Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye. Nyghtvision doth not own anything. Most of the dialogue doth belong to Monty Python, and the characters doth belong to Tamora Pierce. (looks up as SHADOW looms overhead) AAH! NO! NOT THE-- (Giant FOOT comes down from SKY and flattens him again. Which of course our lady Nyghtvision doth not own.)
=================================
From the swirling mists of legend, dramatic music played as a castle emerged --
"Hold it! HOLD IT!" The music distorted and wound down to silence, and the image froze on the screen. A short woman stormed onto the set, violet eyes flashing, waving a sword around with absolutely no respect for the cameras. "Where's the person in charge here?" the Lioness snapped, looking around dangerously.
The cameramen and actors cowered. As one, they stepped aside and pointed to a crouched figure in the corner. Pink feathers swirled about the small, huddled form, and it prattled obliviously to itself. Alanna the Lioness strode forward and blinked. The figure was a young woman, even shorter than herself, with chestnut hair going in all directions, who was slapping a large pink flamingo with a plastic spork for all she was worth. "Steal my coffee, will you? Freaking flamingos..." the girl chattered as she sporked the bird.
Alanna coughed. When the annoyingly young director looked up, she crossed her eyes to look at the sword leveled in front of her nose. "I have heard that you are attempting a comedy. Why am I not in it?" Alanna growled, her voice like the purr of a lioness.
The director blinked and consulted her script, which conveniently appeared out of nowhere. "Um, because we don't really have a part for you to... meep." The girl trailed off as the sword pressed closer to her face. "Well, actually, we don't have a Sir Robin yet..."
Duke Roger dashed onto the set. "You said I could be Robin! You PROMISED!"
"You're Roger the Shrubber! You can't have TWO parts!"
"Daine does," the duke pointed out.
"I deserve them!" a girl's voice shouted from offscreen.
Owen popped up out of nowhere. "Jolly!"
"Can I be Lancelot?" Alanna asked hopefully.
"We've already got Lancelot." The director leafed frantically through masses of scripts and yanked out a piece of paper. "Hey. You can be..."
The rest of her sentence was cut off by the National Bureau of Cliffhangers (TM) and the fic attempted to continue.
--------------------------------------------
Tortall. 400-something Human Era. Out of the swirling mists came the sound of hoofbeats as a noble figure trotted into view, riding an imaginary horse. Behind him galloped an older man with a coconut half in each hand, banging them together to sound like hoofbeats.
The noble figure galloped up to the castle and halted. With a flourish, his servant stopped rattling the coconuts, and added a whinny for good measure.
"Whoa there," the noble figure said to his imaginary horse, and shouted up to the walls. "Hark! ... Your king has come."
From off screen, someone muttered, "That's not your line."
"... Shut up," the noble figure hissed. He tapped his foot on the ground. "Hello? Anyone up there?"
Silence, except for the mist and a faint clanking sound. Then, two figures came into view on the castle wall, adjusting their cheap prop armor and rattling their pikes. Suddenly one fell over. "Aah!"
The broad-shouldered one called down to the noble figure in a husky girl's voice. "Hold on a minute... Daine's helmet fell over her eyes and she can't see." She disappeared for a moment, then both soldiers stood at attention.
"Halt!" Keladry shouted out importantly. "Who goes there?"
"It is I, Jonathan, king of the Tortallans."
"Hee hee... turtles..." Daine snerked, trying to keep her pike straight. She fell down again. Kel ignored her, attempting to keep her dignity intact. "Who's the other one?" she shouted down.
"My faithful steed..." Jon blinked and rubbed his beard, glancing thoughtfully at his servant. "... Patsy," he decided.
"My name's not Patsy! I'm Wyldon, dammit, I've only served the realm for thirty years..."
"King Jon and his faithful steed Patsy," the king announced over the grumblings of his 'horse.'
Kel kept her face a restrained mask. "What is your business here?"
"We have ridden the length and breadth of the land, seeking knights to join my court at Corus," Jon said all in one breath. When he was done, he put his hands behind his back and rocked on his feet, looking pleased with himself.
"What? Ridden on a horse?" Kel demanded.
"Yes..." Jon answered dubiously.
"You're using coconuts!" Keladry shouted in disbelief.
"What?"
"You've got two empty halves of a coconut and you're bangin' them together!" Kel continued.
Jon looked accusingly at Wyldon. Wyldon glared at him darkly and clopped the coconuts menacingly. "So?" Jon shrugged. "We have ridden since the snows of winter covered this land..."
"Where'd you get the coconuts?" Kel asked suspiciously.
Jon looked at Wyldon again. Wyldon snorted, stamped, and whinnied sulkily. "We found them."
"Found them? In Tortall?! The coconut's tropical!" Kel shouted.
"What do you mean?"
"This is a temperate zone!"
Jon adopted a poetic stance. "The sparrow and the plover may fly south for the winter, and the penguins may seek warmer climes, yet these are not strangers to our land?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
Daine popped up, adjusting her helmet, which fell over her eyes again. "Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?"
Jon thought about it, rubbing his beard and staring off into space. Wyldon snorted and wandered off to graze. "They could be carried," Jon said decisively.
"And this man is in charge of our country?" Kel muttered. "Ye gods." She rubbed her forehead painfully.
"What, a sparrow carrying a coconut?" Daine said scornfully.
"It could grip it by the husk," Jon replied.
"It's not a question of WHERE he grips it, it's a simple matter of weight ratios, a five ounce bird cannot carry a one-pound coconut!"
"It matters not." Jon held out his hands. "Will you go and tell your master that King Jonathan is here?"
There was a slight pause. The two guards looked at him skeptically. Finally, Keladry spoke up. "Look, to maintain air-speed velocity, a sparrow has to beat its wings forty-seven times a minute, right?"
"Please!" Jonathan yelled.
"Am I right?" Kel persisted.
"I don't know!"
"Well, you should know, if you're going to force the poor bird to fetch coconuts for you."
Daine jumped in. "And even if it COULD carry the coconut, why would it want to? Sparrows are smart creatures, you know, they don't waste their time lugging coconuts around for some mad king to bang together."
"Look, never mind the coconuts," Jon tried to interrupt, but the two sparrow-loving guards weren't going to let him off that easily.
"We can't let you go on thinking that a poor little sparrow should break its back fetching you coconuts when its time could be better spent knitting or learning how to read!"
"Selfish people like you are the sole cause of illiteracy in sparrows and other small birds! Now THERE'S a weight on your conscience!"
"Forget the damn sparrows! I must speak with your lord and master!" Jon screamed.
"Forget the--?! Ye gods! Do you HEAR this man?"
"Sparrow abuser!"
"This is cruelty to animals!"
"Quick, call up the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Sparrows! This man's a menace to society!"
"Go fetch your own coconuts, you cruel, heartless, mean, nasty, ugly sparrow-abuser..."
Disgusted, Jon beckoned to his 'horse.' Wyldon gave him a long resentful look and started banging the coconuts together again. Jon pretended to mount his imaginary horse and began to ride off into the mist.
"Yeah, go away, you foul slavedriver of innocent sparrows!" Daine screamed as a parting shot. When she was sure the king was gone, she relaxed against the battlements.
Kel, however, had a perturbed look on her face, and she bit her lip in thought. Suddenly she turned to the other guard. "Daine?"
"Yes?"
"Supposing it was a Carthaki Sparrow?"
Interested, Daine frowned deeply. "Well it's possible, but Carthaki Sparrows are non-migratory. So they couldn't bring a coconut back anyway."
Kel nodded and stared off into the distance. Then she swung back to Daine. "What if two of them carried it together?"
"They'd have to have it on a line..."
"They could use a strand of creeper," Kel suggested.
"What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers?"
"Why not?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SCENE TWO
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We now follow the plot lines to a muddy, plague-ridden, mangy village. People are crawling around, eating mud, dying, writhing, or being beaten to death by nuns with large mallets.
"Hey, where's Kel?" someone hissed from offstage.
"Trying to get her armor off," another offstage person answered.
"She can't be doing that! We need a cart driver!" The first person muttered.
There was a flurry of whispering from backstage as the two people consulted.
"Him?" The second person raised their voice. "We can't use HIM! He's DEAD!"
"We have to! All of our cast extras are completely plastered from that party last night!"
"Well, we could always use Numair..."
"He's locked himself in the bathroom again because he didn't like the way the flying purple llamas were looking at him. And Owen's been arrested for Illegal Repeated Use of the Word 'Jolly.' There aren't any other extras, we have no choice!"
"Dang," the second person muttered. "You're right."
"Call up the Black God and ask if we can borrow him again."
A few minutes later, Alex of Tirragon stomped reluctantly onto the set, grumbling about 'five-minute resurrections' and 'I always have to play the bit-parts.' He grabbed a wheelbarrow loaded with dead bodies and wandered around the village, beating a small gong.
"Bring out your dead!" Alex shouted randomly. "Bring out your dead!"
Neal staggered out of a house, carrying a limp body over his shoulder. "This was supposed to be Kel's part but she says she's stuck," he gasped. Alex looked at him blankly. "... Who's Kel...?"
"Never mind."
"All right," Alex shrugged. "Bring out your dead!" he yelled.
"Here, I've got one," Neal said, pointing at the limp body over his shoulder.
"All right, that'll be six dollars."
"What are dollars?"
"I have no idea."
"I haven't got any of those. But here, you can have this coin," Neal offered. Alex looked at it and nodded. "All right. Put him in the cart."
"But I'm not dead!" the body squealed.
"What?" Alex asked, confused.
"Nothing, nothing. Shut up, Merric." Neal grinned sheepishly at Alex. "Well, here you go..."
"I'm not quite dead yet!"
"Well, look," Neal scolded. "You'll be dead in a minute. You're on your way out."
"No, no, I'm starting to feel better," Merric gasped, attempting to wriggle free.
"Nonsense, you're dying, you're shuffling off this mortal coil, on your way to joining the bleeding choir invisible. If I didn't have you in a deadlock you'd be pushing up daisies. You're dead, mate, you're dead. Now go on the cart." Neal attempted to shove the redhead into the wheelbarrow, but Merric clung to his shoulder.
"I'm not dead!"
"Here now, he says he isn't dead," Alex objected.
Neal laughed nervously. "Yes he is."
"No, I'm not!"
"You will be soon. You're very ill," Neal told the dead body.
"I'm getting better!" Merric kicked feebly.
"No you're not. You'll be stone dead in a minute." Neal tried again to stuff him into the cart, but Alex held up a hand.
"I can't take him like this. It's against regulations."
"Oh, come on. Look at him. He's dead."
"Hey, don't tell ME what a dead body looks like! You forget that I'm dead myself! Alanna killed me!" Alex argued.
Neal blinked at him cluelessly.
"Never mind," Alex sighed.
"You're not dead either," Merric said weakly, poking his head up. Neal grabbed his head and pushed it back down.
"Can you please take him?"
"I don't want to go on the cart!" Merric gasped.
"Oh, don't be such a baby."
"I can't take him like that," Alex replied, shaking his head.
"I feel fine!"
"Do me a favor?" Neal wheedled.
"No."
"Well, can you just hang around a few minutes? He won't be long."
Alex shook his head again. "I promised I'd be at Pirate's Swoop. They lost nine today."
"I think I'll go for a walk..." Merric attempted.
"You're not fooling anyone, you know," Neal told him. To Alex, he asked pleadingly, "Isn't there anything you can do?"
The redhead on his shoulder began singing unrecognizably. "I feel happy... I feel happy..."
Neal and Alex exchanged furtive looks, then looked shiftily up and down the street. Alex whipped out a club, out of nowhere, really. There was a quick bonk, and the singing abruptly stopped.
Neal handed over the money. "Thanks a lot mate, I owe you one."
"Well, it won't be much good, I'm dead." Alex put the money in his hip pouch. "See you Thursday."
Suddenly the villagers stopped writhing and kneeled in the mud. Neal and Alex promptly bowed their heads as the sound of hoofbeats grew closer and closer. King Jonathan rode by on a magnificent imaginary steed, with Wyldon behind him, carrying all the luggage and banging his coconuts together.
Neal blinked when he had passed. "Who was that?"
"Must have been a king."
"How do you figure that?"
"Because the script said so..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CASPIAN NYGHTVISION STRIKES AGAIN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Coming up next: Possibly my favorite scene in the whole movie, the Constitutional Peasants...