About Us
----
Issue #7, July 2005:
Martian Sparklers,
by K.M. Praschak
----
The Blueblade Warriors,
by Brian G. Ross
----
The Landing,
by Brian C.Petroziello
----
The Count's Daughter,
by Martin Green
----
Blip,
by Barrie Christian
----
The Blueblade Warriors
by Brian G. Ross
Finkelstone, the First Knight of the Realm,
circled the creature for the four hundred and
fifteenth time. He looked at his feet and the
well-worn dirt path he had tread, as he walked
into his partner.
It was the eighth time tonight.
“Basquille, kindly keep up!”
The Second Knight of the Realm stopped
and turned around. “Sir, I’m ahead of you.”
“Well you started off behind me,”
Finkelstone said, sighing. “Now please, as you
were.”
Basquille continued around the cage
and stopped at his partner’s heels. “Ready
when you are, sir.”
Finkelstone began to march again.
“Must you insist on carrying that infernal
instrument with you everywhere?”
“It’s my destiny, sir,” Basquille said,
holding the banjo over his shoulder as he
marched, like Huck Finn carrying his lunch.
“You mark my words, sir. One day I’ll have
my own bluegrass band, and we’ll be even
bigger than the Blueblade Warriors. They’re so
cool. They’re the best, you know?”
“Quite.” The first knight wondered how long
it was until the next shift came in from the
palace. “What is this bluegrass you speak
of unendingly?”
“It’s like country ‘n’ western, sir, only faster.”
“Aah,” Finkelstone said, smiling beneath
his helmet. “Depressing in two minutes instead of
three then?”
“No sir, not at all. You should listen.”
Basquille patted himself down. “Wait a minute, I
think I’ve got a tape somewhere.”
“There’s no need.”
Basquille see-sawed as he marched. “Sir?”
“Yes.”
“Why must we go round and round all the
time? I mean, it’s in the cage, sir. We can watch
it from those rocks over there.”
Finkelstone stopped and sighed, and
Basquille ran into his heels again. Sometimes,
sense came from the strangest places.
“I’m starting to get dizzy, sir.”
“All right,” the First Knight said. “Let us sit.”
“Thanks, sir.”
“I am going to use that big tree over
there.” Finkelstone pointed into the distance.
“Stay alert!
“Sir, what for?”
Finkelstone sighed. “Just don’t fall asleep!”
“Yes sir.”
Basquille saluted and watched his superior
skip into the woods. He slid onto a rock and
puffed out his cheeks.
“Hey.”
“Huh?” The Second Knight brought his
knees up under his chin. “Sir, is that you?”
“Psst, over here.”
The creature stood on its hind legs and
grabbed the bars of the cage with its meaty
fists.
“Holy cow! You can talk.”
“Sure I can talk. Wanna see me dance?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Be a mate and get my gear, will ya?”
“Your gear?”
“Yeah; my stuff, my clothes.”
Basquille got up and moved towards the
creature. “As a sworn Knight of the Realm I
cannot help you escape.”
“I ain’t asking you to, buddy. I just need
some cover for the little general, know what I
mean?”
“It is a little cold. I suppose it wouldn’t do
any harm to allow you to dress.”
The creature rubbed his hands together.
“You’re a star, so you are.”
Basquille gathered the items and pushed
them through the bars.
“You’re a knight, you say?”
“Yes sir.”
“That other guy your boss?” The
creature hooked a thumb towards the woods
as he slipped into his shirt.
“Finkelstone, yes.”
“Where’s your steed?”
“My what?”
“Your steed - your buck, your ride.”
The creature sighed. “Where’s your
goddamned horse, man?”
“I don’t have a horse.”
“No horse? How do you get around?”
Basquille pointed. “Over there.”
The creature followed the knight’s finger.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“No sir.”
“A kangaroo?”
“They are standard issue transportation
in this kingdom.”
The creature let loose a well-fed laugh.
“They have a handy pocket for pencils
and stuff,” Basquille said.
“Wait until my mates hear about this.
We’ve got a band. Maybe you’ve heard of us -
The Blueblade Warriors?”
Basquille almost swallowed his tongue.
“Heard of you? I’m your biggest fan. I have all
your stuff!”
“Really? That’s very flattering.”
“Banjo Days and Ukelele Nights is a
classic album.”
“Yeah, pretty nifty, isn’t it?”
“Which one are you?”
“Um.” The creature frowned. “I play, uh,
the banjo.”
“Oh my God, you’re Eric Von
Parenthesis III?”
“In the flesh baby, but all my mates call
me Bob.”
“Wow! I play the banjo too.” Basquille
pointed to the instrument on his shoulder.
“Well ain’t that a coincidence.”
“You look so different without your make-up.”
“That’s showbiz, kid.” Bob scratched his chin,
feigning thought. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“What?”
“If you let me outta here, I may be able to get
you into the band.”
“You mean, I could be a Warrior?”
Bob shrugged. “Sure, why not.”
“You really think I’m good enough?”
“Tell you what, give me a blast while I finish
getting changed.”
“All right. What do you want to hear?”
“Surprise me,” Bob said, pulling on his trousers.
Basquille sat on a rock and started plucking.
His fingers danced across the strings like feet
across hot coals. Concentration forced his tongue
out between his lips. Once Bob was dressed, he
stopped.
“What do you think?”
“Outstanding!” Bob proclaimed. “What was it?”
Basquille blushed. “The Blue Blue Grass
Of Home. It’s my favourite song of yours.”
“Of course. I didn’t recognise it in that key, that’s
all,” Bob fumbled. “Speaking of keys, you gonna let
me outta here, or what?”
“Certainly.” Basquille hurriedly unhooked the
latch on the cage and Bob stepped out into the night.
“You think you can get me in?”
“Consider it done. I’ll have my people call your
people.”
“I don’t have any people.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find you.” Bob zipped up his
jacket and slapped the knight on the back. “Good
knowing you, mate.”
“Farewell my friend.”
Basquille smiled, pleased with himself, and
watched as Bob ran off into the distance.
Moments later, Finkelstone returned, tucking his
waistcoat into his pants.
“What on earth happened here?”
“Sir, you’ll never believe it!”
“I believe that.”
“That was Eric Von Parenthesis III!”
“Who?”
“He’s in The Blueblade Warriors.”
“He told you that?”
“Yes sir.”
Finkelstone slapped his forehead
theatrically. “And to think, we were just
talking about them.”
“Quite the coincidence, isn’t it, sir?”
Basquille conceded.
“Quite.”
The End
Published by Fools Motley Magazine, 2005. All rights are property
of the author.
Copying and distribution of this work is prohibited. Webpage designed by Fools
Motley Magazine based
on templates from www.angelfire.com .
Image
provided by Grsites .