Part the XIIth - Love's Labors Aboundth

Excerpts from the Diary of Leviathan Cherrychoate:

October the 8th, A.D. 1683

"...and if you don't remove your filthy English hands from my breasts I shall cut off all your appendages and stuff them in your arse!" Which with some wit I replied "Well you didst not protest with such vigor whilst we coupled like a pair of minks in rut." She released a mild harrumph and spurred the mount faster towards the city gates, no doubt being very satisfied if I wouldst be unhorsed as a result. 'Twas to no avail since I was an equestrian of some skill...and my hands were firmly planted upon her womanly protuberances which, I found, prove a most efficacious and satisfying grippe when one rides in such a manner.

As we rode I felt a tinge of guilt for what could be perceived as cowardice for leaving the Turk's Head assemblage to face the Mussleman hoards alone. I was comforted though by the knowledge that my compatriots were very skilled in things martial and certainly this brigand could possess valuable information to gain entry to the Turkish keep and possibly locate this Sergius. Besides, the appeal of this rather buxom, and quite forward, wench kept my hands firmly locked in their place.

We left the city at a gallop, riding quickly past the light guard at the gate who were moving towards the fracas at towne center. 'Pon crossing the bridge she slowed and rode to a small riverside settlement. Nothing of any note in this pigsty - Oh, more than a few buildings in what I call the "decrepit shithouse" style so common in this benighted region. As our mount trotted along the main "thoroughfare" of the Ville she loosed a whistle and from behind the hovels emerged a host of mounted Ruritani of remarkably ugly visage, obviously her band of fellow rogues, cutpurses and thieves.

They were a rather motley crew. Mismatched garments of frequent wear; besat upon rather smallish horse. Much smaller than the war bred mounts of the winged Hussar in our company and the fine steeds of Arabian stock employed by the Turk. "The plan was to get the Brankovic gold, little Chatka, not a riding partner", jovially bellowed a scar- and pock- marked, bearded, old brigand who carried himself as if one of some minor authority within the band.

"I have the gold Hrvno... and brought a little sport," she replied whilst unceremoniously forcing me from the saddle. Now whilst I am as skilled at dismounting as I am mounting, and there is little I cannot mount, a successful dismount is best rendered when one foot is not betangled in saddle belts and stirrup straps. So said, I found myself falling uncontrolled towards the ground...and a pile of horse dung above which I was poised. Seeing this messy and embarrassing fate, I shot out my hand to gain purchase on anything to either retard my fall or, at least, divert my trajectory. 'Twas with great fortune that my hand found its mark on the sword belt of my faire, strumpetish companion thus arresting my plummet; least till my weight and momentum overcame her inertial sitting and we both were tossed to the ground. Her besat in the pile of dung and me beneath the stallion closely examining the rather prodigious reproductive endowment granted unto him by God.

I briefly pondered my position as a howl of rage erupted from the woman. Her compatriots laughed. Not the jubilant, satisfied laugh of a friend who is in a comical spot, but the laugh that says "Oh my, you stupid bastard, you're in for it now," and I was, most clearly, playing the role of yon bastard.

I carefully extricated myself from beneath the steed's phallus and navigated to a position that wouldst place the fine animal between my person and the enraged doxy brigand. Her dark hair was marvelously accented by her crimson face and heaving breasts as she bellowed," I am going to kill you! No...I will hurt you first, then kill you...slowly." She moved to skirt the horse; whereupon I again maneuvered the beast between us.

"See here, my little peach," I ejaculated, "You are the one who pushed me from the animal. I was riding nicely and enjoying your company. I would have dismounted in a proper way had you so asked. You women are so irrational in your thought; no reason." Clearly logic had no effect on the vixen for her howl of rage cascaded three fold and she near leapt over the horse to throttle me. A new approach was needed to calm her before her compatriots got bored and decided to put a ball in my back. At this, my mind was oddly drawn to the thought of Colonel van der Clutch and his proclivity for back-shooting. Not very honorable but I suppose a good option for someone who makes their rather dreary means through robbery of their betters or through playing the professional soldier.

"When I get my hands on you, you spying, filthy, English pig. You will regret having taken ride with me." A collective "Ooooh" was heard from the rogues gallery. I responded, while again circling the horse betwixt us, "The result of the second ride remains to be seen but I shall never regret that first ride. I your stallion, you my mare." I was of a mind that the equine theme wouldst quell her anger but to my surprise alone, for the resulting "Ooooh" from her cohorts in chicanery revealed it as such, her face became as red as a strumpets bottom after a good brisking and, quick as a Walloon on an errant farthing, she was 'round the horse grabbing me, much as a farmer wouldst a bale, and threw me to the ground, of course, into the pile of dung from which I earlier struggled to make no personal acquaintance.

The crowd erupted with a good deal of laughter, quite obviously directed at me and my current, and forthcoming, predicament. As she moved to pummel me I could detect that her anger was somewhat muted. Even her many kicks to my abdomen were not as severe as one would think for I believed the memory of our coupling was still pleasant in her mind. Between the blows I stammered, "No time for this", "Treasure", and "enough for all". The rain of blows stopped and I reluctantly opened my eyes and look at her from my feoetal position.

She stood above me, fists on hips, feet apart, long, raven hair billowing in the fetid river breeze, radiant in both her anger and the heady exhilaration of causing internal injury upon another. If it had not been the target of her boot leather, mine Winch and Tackle would have been at full attainder. Silence descended pon the menagerie of mischief all around. She then leaned forward and with a voice tinged with intrigue asked, "What treasure?"

"Well...", said I as I arose from the thoroughfare knocking off the larger clumps of turd from my person, "THE Treasure. The one held by the Turk in yon fortress," pointing towards the city. A quizzical look encroached upon her angry brow. I continued," Why do you think we and my well armed companions are here?" Continued puzzlement from the young frimp, her breasts heaving, resultant of her booting of my torso, and the crowd of cutpurses moved in closer to hear my words. Clearly the possibility of ill-gotten treasure took precedent over the beating of a foreigner.

"That young man in the courtyard, my dear, you found so stunning as he assaulted the Turk is a Prince. He has come here to take back a considerable amount of riches taken from his country by the swarthy carpet-prayers; treasure which is held in the keep for the Sultan. When you "swung into action" I assumed your sights were on our prize and I sought to prevent you. But now..." I sighed, "...I see that you have lower ambitions and are content with taking the meager earnings of a mink-milker. And I thought you were real brigands."

Clearly my words had an effect. Her eyes became quite wide not only from my insult to her professional acumen but at the thought that treasure of some measure could be procured by her and trusty band's hands. The effect on the assemblage was more pronounced. Comments such as "Yea, treasure", "I knew it!" and "Filthy stealing Turks!" were followed by bold statements like "Let's get it!", and "Eath-Day ooh ta Urks-Tay". While I don't know what that last phrase meant it sounded menacing and, of more import, not directed at me.

"Now, the Prince is a very wise man," I lied, " and would reward all who would help him retrieve his property. Reward them most generously." I could only hope the second to be true.

"Reward!" cried out the bearded old brigand from the crowd. "We are the best at what we do. We will just take it and leave the Prince holding his sack and crying for what he yet lost again!". Murmurs of assent through the crowd until the vivacious Laylah spake thus, "No.", says she, her back straight, hands at side, bosom pointing accusingly, "We know we cannot take the keep. The Turk have numbers greater than ours...and cannon behind stout walls. Englishman, I observed only few in your number and they mostly your whores. I saw this man you claim to be a Prince and how the rabble talked of his being our lost king but I saw no strength to take the fight to the Turk. You yourself fled, as did others. Where is his strength? Why should I believe you?"

I cleared my throat, struck a pose of authority and said, "Then go to the ruins of the castle at Tarlinsk, for there you will find the Prince's host of winged warriors who are poised to strike at the Turk. Go carefully and approach for parlay, for if you approach with treachery or deceit they will strike you. Say that the mage Cherrycoate has sent you and that the Turk has unmasked the Ruse of Radziwill. In this you will see both the Prince's strength and the truth in my words. Offer your horse and sword to our cause. When the deed tis done and we have regained what is ours you will all be rewarded generously so you can live better than the mink herders and milkers you rob. If my words are false, you can mete out any punishment you wish pon my person." This latter point seemed to please o'ermuch bescarred Hrvno.

Much to my delight, a broad open smile parted the lips of the faire Laylah. "Alright, Englishman, I shall speak to your Prince. But," here her visage became more savage, "if you lie in this, the mountains shall remember your screams…"

Excerpts from the Diary of Leviathan Cherrychoate:

October the 8th, A.D. 1683

"...and if you don't remove your filthy English hands from my breasts I shall cut off all your appendages and stuff them in your bunghole!" Which with some wit I replied "Well you didst not protest with such vigor whilst we coupled like a pair of minks in rut." She released a mild harrumph and spurred the mount faster towards the city gates, no doubt being very satisfied if I wouldst be unhorsed as a result. 'Twas to no avail since I was an equestrian of some skill...and my hands were firmly planted upon her womanly protuberances which, I found, prove a most efficacious and satisfying grippe when one rides in such a manner.

As we rode I felt a tinge of guilt for what could be perceived as cowardice for leaving the Turk's Head assemblage to face the Mussleman hoards alone. I was comforted though by the knowledge that my compatriots were very skilled in things martial and certainly this brigand could possess valuable information to gain entry to the Turkish keep and possibly locate this Sergius. Besides, the appeal of this rather buxom, and quite cavalier, wench kept my hands firmly locked in their place.

We left the city at a gallop, riding quickly past the light guard at the gate who were moving towards the fracas at towne center. 'Pon crossing the bridge she slowed and rode to a small riverside settlement. Nothing of any note in this pigsty - Oh, more than a few buildings in what I call the "decrepit shithouse" style so common in this benighted region. As our mount trotted along the main "thoroughfare" of the Ville she loosed a whistle and from behind the hovels emerged a host of mounted Ruritani of remarkably ugly visage, obviously her band of fellow rogues, cutpurses and thieves.

They were a rather motley crew. Mismatched garments of frequent wear; besat upon rather smallish horse. Much smaller than the war bred mounts of the winged Hussar in our company and the fine steeds of Arabian stock employed by the Turk. "The plan was to get the Brankovic gold, little Chatka, not a riding partner", jovially bellowed a scar- and pock- marked, bearded, old brigand who carried himself as if one of some minor authority within the band.

"I have the gold Hrvno... and brought a little sport," she replied whilst unceremoniously forcing me from the saddle. Now whilst I am as skilled at dismounting as I am mounting, and there is little I cannot mount, a successful dismount is best rendered when one foot is not betangled in saddle belts and stirrup straps. So said, I found myself falling uncontrolled towards the ground...and a pile of horse dung above which I was poised. Seeing this messy and embarrassing fate, I shot out my hand to gain purchase on anything to either retard my fall or, at least, divert my trajectory. 'Twas with great fortune that my hand found its mark on the sword belt of my faire, strumpetish companion thus arresting my plummet; least till my weight and momentum overcame her inertial sitting and we both were tossed to the ground, her besat in the pile of dung and me beneath the stallion closely examining the rather prodigious reproductive endowment granted unto him by God.

I briefly pondered my position as a howl of rage erupted from the woman. Her compatriots laughed. Not the jubilant, satisfied laugh of a friend who is in a comical spot, but the laugh that says "Oh my, you stupid bastard, you're in for it now," and I was, most clearly, playing the role of yon bastard.

I carefully extricated myself from beneath the steed's phallus and navigated to a position that wouldst place the fine animal between my person and the enraged doxy brigand. Her dark hair was marvelously accented by her crimson face and heaving breasts as she bellowed," I am going to kill you! No...I will hurt you first, then kill you...slowly." She moved to skirt the horse; whereupon I again maneuvered the beast between us.

"See here, my little peach," I ejaculated, "You are the one who pushed me from the animal. I was riding nicely and enjoying your company. I would have dismounted in a proper way had you so asked. You women are so irrational in your thought; no reason." Clearly logic had no effect on the vixen for her howl of rage cascaded three fold and she near leapt over the horse to throttle me. A new approach was needed to calm her before her compatriots got bored and decided to put a ball in my back. At this, my mind was oddly drawn to the thought of Colonel van der Clutch and his proclivity for back-shooting. Not very honorable but I suppose a good option for someone who makes their rather dreary means through robbery of their betters or through playing the professional soldier.

"When I get my hands on you, you spying, filthy, English pig, you will regret having taken ride with me." A collective "Ooooh" was heard from the rogues gallery. I responded, while again circling the horse betwixt us, "The result of the second ride remains to be seen but I shall never regret that first ride. I your stallion, you my mare." I was of a mind that the equine theme wouldst quell her anger but to my surprise alone, for the resulting "Ooooh" from her cohorts in chicanery revealed it as such, her face became as red as a strumpets bottom after a good brisking and, quick as a Walloon on an errant farthing, she was 'round the horse grabbing me, much as a farmer wouldst a bale, and threw me to the ground, of course, into the pile of dung from which I earlier struggled to make no personal acquaintance.

The crowd erupted with a good deal of laughter, quite obviously directed at me and my current, and forthcoming, predicament. As she moved to pummel me I could detect that her anger was somewhat muted. Even her many kicks to my abdomen were not as severe as one would think for I believed the memory of our coupling was still pleasant in her mind. Between the blows I stammered, "No time for this", "Treasure", and "enough for all". The rain of blows stopped and I reluctantly opened my eyes and look at her from my feoetal position.

She stood above me, fists on hips, feet apart, long, raven hair billowing in the fetid river breeze, radiant in both her anger and the heady exhilaration of causing internal injury upon another. If it had not been the target of her boot leather, mine Winch and Tackle would have been at full attainder. Silence descended pon the menagerie of mischief all around. She then leaned forward and with a voice tinged with intrigue asked, "What treasure?"

"Well...", said I as I arose from the thoroughfare knocking off the larger clumps of turd from my person, "THE Treasure. The one held by the Turk in yon fortress," pointing towards the city. A quizzical look encroached upon her angry brow. I continued," Why do you think we and my well armed companions are here?" Continued puzzlement from the beauteous young frimp, her breasts heaving, resultant of her booting of my torso, and the crowd of cutpurses moved in closer to hear my words. Clearly the possibility of ill-gotten treasure took precedent over the beating of a foreigner.

"That young man in the courtyard, my dear, you found so stunning as he assaulted the Turk is a Prince. He has come here to take back a considerable amount of riches taken from his country by the swarthy carpet-prayers; treasure which is held in the keep for the Sultan. When you "swung into action" I assumed your sights were on our prize and I sought to prevent you. But now..." I sighed, "...I see that you have lower ambitions and are content with taking the meager earnings of a mink-milker. And I thought you were real brigands."

Clearly my words had an effect. Her eyes became quite wide not only from my insult to her professional acumen but at the thought that treasure of some measure could be procured by her and her trusty band's hands. The effect on the assemblage was more pronounced. Comments such as "Yea, treasure", "I knew it!" and "Filthy stealing Turks!" were followed by bold statements like "Let's get it!", and "Eath-Day ooh ta Urks-Tay". While I don't know what that last phrase meant it sounded menacing and, of more import, not directed at me.

"Now, the Prince is a very wise man," I lied, " and would reward all who would help him retrieve his property. Reward them most generously." I could only hope the second to be true.

"Reward!" cried out the bearded old brigand from the crowd. "We are the best at what we do. We will just take it and leave the Prince holding his sack and crying for what he yet lost again!". Murmurs of assent through the crowd until the vivacious Laylah spake thus, "No.", says she, her back straight, hands at side, bosom pointing accusingly, "We know we cannot take the keep. The Turk have numbers greater than ours...and cannon behind stout walls. Englishman, I observed only few in your number and they mostly your whores. I saw this man you claim to be a Prince and how the rabble talked of his being our lost king but I saw no strength to take the fight to the Turk. You yourself fled, as did others. Where is his strength? Why should I believe you?"

I cleared my throat, struck a pose of authority and said, "Then go to the ruins of the castle at Tarlinsk, for there you will find the Prince's host of winged warriors who are poised to strike at the Turk. Go carefully and approach for parlay, for if you approach with treachery or deceit they will strike you. Say that the mage Cherrycoate has sent you and that the Turk has unmasked the Ruse of Radziwill. In this you will see both the Prince's strength and the truth in my words. Offer your horse and sword to our cause. When the deed tis done and we have regained what is ours you will all be rewarded generously so you can live better than the mink herders and milkers you rob. If my words are false, you can mete out any punishment you wish pon my person." This latter point seemed to please o'ermuch bescarred Hrvno.

Much to my delight, a broad open smile parted the lips of the faire Laylah. "Alright, Englishman, I shall speak to your Prince. But," here her visage became more savage, "if you lie in this, the mountains shall remember your screams…"


Excerpts from The Memoirs of Oktawjan Zagloba:

Chapter XXXVII
How I Revolutionized Western Civilization

…Once free of the city, we easily eluded any pursuit. We covered the seven leagues from Streltsova to the camp at Tarlinsk, arriving near sunset. We were met there by Sandorius, van der Snaecht, the Little Orphan and the boy Eduard. With them was the priest Sergius. Regarding the Countess Georgina, the last I had seen of her was that she was being taken from the square by two janissaries. The Prince and I had witnessed the capture of Wendyleen. Cherrycoate was last seen attempting to molest the brigand woman who had taken advantage of the confusion in the square to rob the wedding party.
To add to our woes, Captain Wojnicz, of the Prince's hussars, confirmed that King John had in fact been killed at Parkany but a few days prior. A messenger had come from the army bearing the news. He also had a package with him, sent by the King in premonition of death to Sandorius. It contained a vial of a few drops of the King's heart's blood for the wizard's use in an alchemy. Sandorius was most impressed with the generosity of the gift for he said that the blood of king, especially one chosen not by accident of birth but by the will of his people, would provide great power to any magic.
I assembled the camp and we honored the valiant King who had been so much like a brother to me.
Afterwards, I sent one of my Mechanical Automaton Pigeons Empowered by a Clockwork Mechanism to Feign a Simulacrum of Life with a message for Wendyleen, asking her to inform us of her whereabouts within the castle. Within two hours, it returned. Unfortunately, the small paper which was carried by the Mechanical Automaton Pigeon Empowered by a Clockwork Mechanism to Feign a Simulacrum of Life was filled with Wendyleen's impassioned speech of gratitude and faith for Prince Radziwill together with an extended plea in favor of equal rights of women and of the need to educate the lower classes. By the time the Englishwoman got around to telling us her whereabouts, she had run out of paper. I had absolutely no desire to listen to any contents she might have left upon the Device In Which the Vibrations of Sound Are Transferred to Mechanical Energy and Captured Upon a Disc of Wax In Such A Manner That Allows the Reproduction of That Captured Sound which was contained within the workings of the Mechanical Automaton Pigeon Empowered by a Clockwork Mechanism to Feign a Simulacrum of Life. Fortunately, the Mechanical Automaton Pigeon Empowered by a Clockwork Mechanism to Feign a Simulacrum of Life also contained a Camera Obscura Designed to Capture the Image of Scenes Presented Before Its Lens In Order To Reproduce That Image Upon An Impregnated Canvas. This provided me with an image of the keep without the need of hearing yet another of Wendyleen's soliloquies.
In the meantime, Sandorius was closeted with Father Sergius. The priest said that the Archbishop had sent him here with three great crates of books. Sergius had been born and raised near the town of Zenda and knew of a cave near the ruins of an old Macedonian temple which he had found in his childhood tending the mink herds. The cave was quite remote and anything secreted there would not be found. Thus, when word first came of the impending Turkish invasion, Sergius took the crates of books and placed them in the cave. As soon as all three were in the cave, one sprang open and a great clockwork devise appeared. Soon, a tremendous fog formed within the cave which obscured everything within and no matter how deeply one entered the cave, the crates could no longer be found.
Sandorius said that he would investigate this cave, as soon as the matter of our friends whereabouts could be determined but before the Turks discovered the cave. Sergius responded that the cave was so remote, it would take a Gypsy crystal-gazer a week to find it. Sandorius was not reassured.
Just as the sun was setting, two riders approached. One bore a flag of truce while the other proved to be none other than the lady brigand who had stolen the wedding gifts.
The woman, who called herself Laylah Hozzenko, was breathtakingly beautiful. I knew she had fallen quite in love with me upon first sight. She was cunning as a lynx, though, and she held her passion in check and feigned more interest in Prince Radziwill.
She claimed that she had captured our wizard Cherrycoate. At which we all had a most hearty laugh, especially Sandorius. Laylah seemed most put out when I told her that Cherrycoate was merely an apprentice and, if she had come on the matter of ransom, we would not accept anything less than 200 ducats for taking him back.
She said that Cherrycoate was not the matter of her visit. Rather, she wished to speak privately to the Prince on a matter of some urgency. I prodded the Prince, who I had firmly instructed not to say a word, to nod his assent. He and Laylah then repaired to his tent but forbade me from entering. Fearing a disastrous interview if left to his own devices, I hastily placed the Mechanical Automaton Pigeon Empowered by a Clockwork Mechanism to Feign a Simulacrum of Life secretly into the tent. I periodically retrieved the device in order to both listen to the conversation and to relay instructions to the Prince.
Despite his best efforts to make a fool of himself, the Prince, through my careful instruction, managed the interview well. Laylah offered the service of herself and her band in the reduction of the castle in Streltsova. She claimed she knew of the great treasure kept there which we sought to capture.
To which the Prince, pressing a small English posey which Wendyleen had given him to his lips, said, "Yes, thewe is the gweatest tweasuwe thewe. But I'm not suwe if I'm wiwwing to shawe it! Or at weast if I do, I would want to watch."
I, of course, realized that Cherrycoate must have practiced a confidence upon her to obtain he assistance in the attack upon the castle. This lie must have been that the Turks held some great treasure within the castle. The Prince who had the undeserved good fortune to be born into one of the wealthiest families of the Commonwealth, never thought in terms of gold being a treasure and mistook her statements as a reference to Wendyleen.
I recognized that our purpose would be much more easily obtained with this resourceful brigandress' assistance. I therefore hastened to prevent the conversation from degenerating further. I sent the Mechanical Automaton Pigeon Empowered by a Clockwork Mechanism to Feign a Simulacrum of Life squawking up to the Prince's ear, ordering him to agree to anything the robber wished.
Now when the Prince mumbled his assent, Laylah let out a cry of joy and said, "Most handsome Prince, shall we not seal our bargain in a more personal way?" She threw off her clothes and positioned herself seductively upon the Prince's fur-covered camp bed, right next to the stuffed wild boar and fuzzy auroch.
Unfortunately, at the moment, the Mechanical Automaton Pigeon Empowered by a Clockwork Mechanism to Feign a Simulacrum of Life suffered a slight malfunctioning and the voice of Wendyleen filled the air with an impassioned harangue for improved sanitary conditions and sewage removal. The Prince stood quivering in hesitation and guilt.
I knew something must be done to retrieve the situation. So I snuffed out the candles, pulled the Prince from the tent and replaced him in the bed.
Now I am not normally of a passionate nature. But my father, the famed Heracliusz Zagloba was a voluptuary of some repute. In his day, he had traveled the world and studied Oriental ways which he recorded in his work, the Loves of Elephantis. He had given me a copy of this upon my eighteenth birthday, which included illustrations, diagrams and mathematical formulae on the performance of the hedonistic arts. We had barely gotten to Chapter Four when Laylah was calling for mercy. By the time we reached Chapter Seven, I needed to revive her by dashing a tub of cold water upon her face, which also came in handy for Chapters Nine and Ten. By the time we reached Chapter Twelve, she could no longer remember her own name and by the time we reached the Epilogue, I had serious doubts about her sanity.
For several hours afterwards, she could merely sit and stare blankly, giggling the words, "Bumpies, Big Bumpies" over and over again. Finally, I asked if she had enjoyed our rendezvous, to which she replied, "Well you certainly are not English!"
The next morning shortly before dawn, Laylah departed, a surprised look still upon her face. She said she would bring her troop and meet us upon the road to Streltsova. Shortly thereafter, the Prince's entire troop set off to win the freedom of the Prince's lady or to die trying….

9th October 1683
To His Excellency Adam Sieniawski, Field Hetman, Crown Army
From Georgina, Grafein von Schnitterboch-Falkenburg, Rotamistress of the Foreign Autorament

…The cart in which I was secreted traveled but little over one league before coming to halt. It was broken open and, as my eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden infusion of light, I perceived that I was in the midst of a large crowd of Ruritanians who gawked at me as I exited the crate.
The mob of thirty or so was apparently the Rebel Junto which sought to drive out the Turks. I was introduced to the leaders which included Kristov Brankovic and Emil Frankopan, the two richest men in the land, whose children were being wed when we had first entered Streltsova. Also present were Greegor Mauswarmer, the representative of the Mink-Milker's Guild, Yanush Hibuff, Master Brewer-Distiller of the Brefnish Works, and Rolandro Oopfockr, Headmaster of the Streltsova Academy for Gentles and the closest thing the town had to a natural philosopher.
All expressed their hatred of the Turk and their desire to support the new King, if he had in fact come to the Kingdom. Now this was the problematic part, at the time, I believed that the Prince and all my companions had been captured in brawl at the wedding. I therefore felt that these worthies were my only hope of rescuing them
Unfortunately, there is an old Ruritanian saying that if you have two Ruritanians, you will have three political factions. I had thought that the possible return of their king would have steeled these people for action. Instead, it had seemed to increase their squabbling. These men could not agree of any point and only by the most complex and arcane methodology could they reach some consensus. No, I stand in error, they all agreed that they had no other clothing into which I could change from my harem garb.
Well into the night, they debated whether to use the drawing of straws to determine what denomination of coinage would be used for a toss to determine if the white and black painted potatoes would be used to establish the membership of a special committee to investigate the means by which to establish a working committee to create a list of options for further study upon what course of action should be taken.
I told them that all they needed to do was form bands to harass and attack the Turkish piquets and this would begin their revolution. To which they at first assented but then began to argue as to what type of instruments they should use in these bands, some arguing for trumpets, other for only reed instruments while one member did note that he had once ruptured a fellow with a bassoon. I screamed at them, "Armed bands! You idiots! Not musical bands!" In disgust, I drank flagons of brefnish until I fell asleep.
In the morning, I was awoken by a most cacophonous noise and opened my eyes to see the yard of the small farm filled with thirty Ruritanians, all practicing on a different instrument.
At this my rage knew no limits, I began shouting that they should forget about the instruments and get real weapons. To which they replied, "What weapons and how would we use them? None of us are soldiers."
At this point, a Turkish outrider happened to pass by down the road. More in frustration than by design, I grabbed a nearby pitchfork and flung it at the luckless Turk who was immediately killed.
The Ruritanians were all most impressed. I rushed out into the road and plucked the fork from the Turk's body. I cried out that this was all that was needed.
To which Herr Oopfockr responded with debate. "Most interesting for a singular isolated event. But surely, that cannot be taken as a model for social reorganization. I mean, suppose another Turk came along while we stood here in debate over this body?"
I noticed that another Turkish outrider had approached from behind Herr Oopfockr. I also noticed that the rest of the Ruritanians had caught onto the idea more quickly than Herr Oopfockr. The second Turk nearly vanished under a barrage of thirty thrown pitchforks and his body soon also fell to the earth.
"My dear Countess, you could not possibly expect such a ploy to work a second time."
The Ruritanians rushed into the road and began to hack and stab the second Turk into a pulp.
"And don't even mention what would happen if an alert troop caught wind of what was happening."
Here the remainder of the Turkish patrol rode up, six in all, their scimitars gleaming. They too were met with another barrage of pitchforks and folks from the farms nearby began to swarm out onto the road, assisting the original thirty in bringing the Turks down in a moment's time.
'"I mean really. How can poor civilians ever hope to take on warriors such as the Turks? And even if successful, how could we possibly avoid the terrible retributions that would follow."
Here I asked Herr Oopfockr to take up the feet of one of the Turkish corpses that I had weighted down with rocks. We carried the body to the river and flung him in.
"The Turks are very good at snuffing out rebellion. They have been doing it here for three hundred years. You cannot expect that their iron rule would collapse overnight. I mean, suppose you could ambush the individual patrol or piquet but would that really bring us any closer to revolution?"
The road was now filled with hundreds of peasants, cheering the return of the King and screaming death to the Turks. We began marching to Streltsova.
"Now even suppose by some miracle, the spark of a rebellion could be fostered, say here in Nish, perhaps it could smolder for some time, but it would take years until we could be secure enough to venture forth and then our ambitions would have to be most limited."
The crowd swarmed over the guards on the bridge to Streltsova. The few Turkish guard that survived running panic-stricken to the walls.
"And even if, after years of struggle, we managed to be strong enough to contemplate an attack on the capital, pitchforks would not be enough to batter down the walls. We would need trained soldiers and artillerymen."
Here we began passing the lines of the deploying Walloons while Zagloba oversaw the unlimbering of his mortars and rockets.
"I know you could argue that the new King has brought such troops. But to try and coordinate the movements of such forces with ours at such a distance is an impossibility."
Sandorius greeted me and remarked, "I'm glad to see you received our pigeon. And your dog Schotzie was most effective in locating you."
"And even then, there is the question of getting over the walls. We would need engineers, time to prepare ladders and siege towers."
Here several hundred Ruritanians formed human pyramids and the Walloons were soon swarming over the walls.
As the Turkish flags began falling all over the city walls, Oopfockr concluded, "No, I'm sorry, my dear Countess. A rebellion here in Ruritania is quite impossible."…