Spontoon Island
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23 November 2009
| "The I Do's of
March"
by M. Mitchell Marmel & E.O. Costello © 2007-9 by M. Mitchell Marmel and E.O. Costello Willow Fawnsworthy, Reggie Buckhorn, Franklin Stagg, Orrin Brush, Leslie duCleds, Kara Karoksdottir, Charles Foster Crane, Inocenta du Cleds (nee de Ciervos), Carlos de Ciervos, Senora de Ciervos © Eric Costello Rosie Baumgartner, © M. Mitchell Marmel Marryin’ Sam and Lulubelle Mae Brunswick © E.O Costello and M. Mitchell Marmel Brenda and Covina Johnson © Walter D. Reimer Part Eleven
Don Carlos: “So! You understand well the what I am saying?” The pilot of the small biplane, the Steerman I have heard him say it was, nodded in the affirmative. “Yes, sir. I file the flight plan to take us over Meeting Island, and circle over the reception site.” I am indeed the gratified to have engaged such a one for the dropping of the rose petals. I shake the paws with the doggie, and he go off, leaving me alone with my boon companion of old, the Baron von Kojote. Heinrich is very moody and quiet of the late. No doubt this is due to his mate, the lovely Baronin Sophia, being with child. ***
Willow: Worse and worse . . . I had been actively trying to avoid bumping into or crossing paths with this Philo Fawnsworthy, and now various sources tell me that he’s actually looking for me. Paranoia, you ask? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re *not* out to get you. So I got out one of my special purses and made sure my Starr 9mm was in good working order and loaded. If we did encounter each other and things went sour, I wanted to be the one walking away. ***
Rosie: Amazing. My second day was nearly as busy as the first. Word had apparently gotten around to the various burrows and rocks that the bureaucratic types hide in and under. Either way, it was just as exhausting, exhilarating and plain gratifying. Around lunchtime I saw a very familiar silhouette at the gate. I had wondered where Franneleh had got to. In order to keep up appearances, we’d been keeping each other at arm’s length. At least in public. In private? None of your business. Best behavior, girl. “Good afternoon, Inspector!” I called out as he closed the gate behind him. “Welcome to Luchow’s.” “Thank you, Miss Baumgartner,” my beloved said. “I’ve noticed you doing a very brisk business. Do you have a table for one available?” I looked around quickly (cheetah quick – almost gave me a crick in my neck) and spotted it. A small table, currently unoccupied, in a shady part of the biergarten. “Your table, Inspector.” As I guided him to his seat, I murmured in his ear, “For your personal use from now on.” Franklin merely nodded, but as he sat down with his back to the wall I saw him flick his flag at me. Hee! Hearts and flowers. “What would you like, Inspector?” “Watercress salad, please, and a glass of water.” I smiled. “Coming right up.” ***
Reggie: Lodge and I arrived at the tailor’s to get fitted, Les having insisted on getting things moving early, to avoid last-minute complications. I couldn’t remember where my morning suit had gone to. Lodge gave every indication of knowing, and this knowledge was the source of a painful memory. Hence, the fitting. I got a pleasant surprise, enough to make my morning, as we saw our chum of many a night, Detective Sergeant Orrin Brush, SIC, standing on a box while an officious mouse took measurements and made little chalk marks. He looked like a chap about to attempt the old transmutation trick with the lead. All he needed was a little pointed cap. “I say, Sergeant, it’s jolly nice of you to agree to this.” The rozzer looked peeved. “I’m only doin’ it t’please m’sister, Buckhorn – an’ t’ keep an eye on yez to make sure there ain’t no trouble, see?” “I am highly confident that there will be no trouble, Sergeant,” Lodge said. “There better not be, or – what’s HE doin’ here?” and he flung an accusing finger at the doorway. We turned to see Po’na walking in, a smirk on his face. “Enquiry Karok-son-Karok lack-knowledge Euro-clothes? Karok-son-Karok need have of crib-nurse Euro, make dress, wipe nose? “ This provoked something of an ominous growl from the First Vulpine. I started to figure out that there may be a tincture of bad blood between these two. One that would send Montagues and Capulets scurrying for the fire exits. The verbal battle was just starting to brew up when a voice cut through it. “Shut it, both of you!” Heads turned to see a statuesque vixen in a suit framed in the doorway. (Well, somewhat statute-esque, as she was wearing the aforementioned suit.) (More’s the pity, in a way.) “Orrin, I am NOT having you disrupt this wedding.” “But, Kara – “ “I’ll tell Mom.” Apparently, this was a threat like unto sending gunboats to cow an uppity native chief. The sergeant started to sulk, and Po’na was about to rub it in when the vixen said, “And as for YOU, Po’na-son-Wa’la, you had better keep that muzzle shut or I’ll suggest to the Althing that the rickshaw driver’s union needs an audit. Still have that little tin box in your office?” The look of horror on Po’na’s face was an expression entirely new in my experience. He mumbled something in Spontoonie and meekly submitted to the tailor. But you could have quite literally cut the tension with a knife. (Most unlikely, Sir. Tension is a state of mind . . .) (Bosh, Lodge. There was a fug of hostility in the air that required no artist to render it tangible. Were it a Buckhorn product, you could have cut it with a knife, and spread it on crackers.) (Hardly appetizing, Sir.) (Point noted, Lodge. Probably a Fenwick Foods product, then.) ***
Rosie: Later in the afternoon I heard the most God-awful sound start upstairs, then proceed downstairs accompanied by the sound of something rolling, the crash of breaking plates and the sound of metal striking concrete. Vicky, Nick and I stampeded around to the stairs to see K’nutt sitting at the base of the steps, surrounded by shattered wood, smashed china and rusty car parts, origin unknown. I guess Luchow was related to the Collie Brothers after all. “K’nutt!” I said. “Are you all right?” The rear half of the gift horse I’d been saddled with flicked an ear, then his head wobbled a bit as he looked up and focused on me. “Whuh?” Brilliant conversationalist. Somewhere, Noel Cowherd is seething with jealousy. “ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” I shouted. He blinked a few more times and said, “I l-l-likes cocoanuts.” Yeah, he was all right. Leaving him to his brother, who started slapping him back into consciousness (if not sense), I turned to see Nick contemplating a broken dish with a sad look. “What is it, Nick?” He sighed like a lovesick crooner. “These plates,” he explained, “are from Imperial Russian Air Force, from before the Revolution. Is reminder of the sad that has been inflict on Nick by cruel fate . . . ” He slid to his knees and looked up imploringly at the heavens. “Dear Lord, give me a sign that there is something wonderful You have created for the sight of Nick..." he broke off as caught a motion out of the corner of his eyes. Vicky had bent over to pick up some fragments, and he could see straight up her skirt. Nick looked back up at the sky. "Ah, You are SO quick!" He was still smiling when Vicky slugged him. next |