Spontoon Island
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2 November 2007
| "Valentines Dazed"
by E.O. Costello, M. Mitchell Marmel, & Walter D. Reimer All characters © their respective creators There was blackness, and no more calliope music. The blackness was interrupted by a strong light shone in my face. "For heaven's sake, Lodge, cut it out. If this is your idea of the Diogenes act..." "Silence-thou, head-tree prisoner!" This accompanied by a sharp jab in the side with a stick. I was about to chastise the wielder of said stick, who seemed to have an awful familiarity, when I realized something even more awful. Namely, lack of attire. This appeared to suit the audience (in the blackness) just fine, as there were squeals of delight, followed by a shower of spitballs, and one expertly thrown paper aeroplane. A small badger with a highly improbable soprano announced this as the case of Rex v. Buckhorn, and thumped a rather oversized staff on the floor. "Pray silence for His Lordship!" I could see, dimly owing to the fact that the light seemed to be coming from the vicinity of the judge's seat, a small form in a large wig take its seat. "Counsel for the Crown, state your case." The voice was oddly familiar, but I couldn't place it. A small mink, whose head was almost lost in his wig, strutted up and began addressing the jurors, who seemed to be mildly peeved their game of marbles was interrupted. "Gentlefurs of the jury. The case for the Crown is very simple. We will endeavor to prove that the defendant, Reginald Buckhorn, did knowingly, willfully, and with malice aforethought, waste the advantages conferred upon him by his birth. This fact shall be proven by substantial evidence showing a pattern of inebriation, mindless practical joke playing, and failure to adhere to family duties." "Bloody cheek!" This riposte from yours truly was met with a painful swipe in the area of the flag by my captor, who managed to duck just out of paw's reach before I could return the favor. "The prisoner at the bar will behave himself, lest he prejudice his case. Pray go on, sir." "I thank you, m'lud. I have nothing further to add, as I am confident the evidence will speak eloquently." "Thank you. Counsel for the defense?" A small, somewhat overweight bison struggled to his feet, wiping a pudgy paw that was sticky from chocolate on his gown. "M'lud, the defense reserves its opening statements." "Very well. The prosecution will proceed." And the prosecution or, rather, persecution, began. Although I must admit that I recalled all of the events that formed Exhibits A through GG, though I'm hanged how they managed to get pictures of the incident involving the chapel bell and the scrap drive. Or, for that matter, the time Buran Chernoff and I rigged the radio-controlled blinds at that Vassar dorm. (That one got lots of squeals from the jury.) This was the first time I'd seen what the lobsters had done the night I gave them their freedom at L'Etoile d'Argent. My counsel, in between mouthfuls of toffee, indicated that the defense was reserving its questions. Curiously, there were no witnesses called. Eventually, the Crown, with a little swish of a jet-black musteline tail (mostly in my direction), rested. So, for that matter, was my counsel, with the wig having slipped over his eyes. The badger poked him awake with the staff. "M'lud, the defense reserves its case." "Oi! How about some exertion there, you young scapegrace." This set off a thunderous chorus of "Yaaaah! Boo! Sucks!" from the gallery, and a further hail of spitballs, paper aeroplanes, and a few very sticky bulls' eyes. The forefur of the jury stuck his thumbs in ears, crossed his eyes, and blew me a juicy razzberry. Eventually, His Lordship restored order through careful tapping of the gavel. The little bovine that was serving as my legal shield, such as he was, began stuffing his face with some Butterscotch Krimpets. "Awkl t'hsthnd Regnld Bugghrn." Evidently, the warder understood this, and he and my guard applied stick and staff to cervine hide and herded me to the witness box. Counsel for the defense: What is your name? Self: Hang on, I haven't sworn. Crown Counsel: Ooooh, if you say a naughty word, you'll be in trouble. Self: Not half as much trouble, you little scalawag as... Counsel for the defense: What is your name? Self: For heaven's sake, if you don't know that... Crown Counsel: M'lud, I move that the witness be struck. His Lordship: Granted. Self: Half a mo', don't you mean my testim---OW! Oi, watch where you poke that stick, you young blot! Warder: Head-tree negative clothes have! Head-tree negative clothes have! HAAAA-HAAAA! (Laughter in court) Counsel for the defense: What is your name? Self: Are you going to keep this up all night? Counsel for the defense: What is your name? Self: Oh, all right. Reginald Buckhorn. There. Happy? Counsel for the defense: Yes. No further questions, your witness. Self: Eh? Crown Counsel: Have you stopped drinking too much? Self: Eh? What? Well, really, I...well, I've been trying to cut back... Crown Counsel: If you took your mind, and gave me a piece of your mind, how much would be left? Self: Eh? What? Hmmm? Crown Counsel: Mark well that answer, gentlefurs of the jury. Self: Hunh? Crown Counsel: What is the best way to make a toilet bowl explode? Self: Oh. That's rather easy. The best way is to get some pure sodium, and chuck it down the toilet just as you flush it. If you can't get sodium, potassium will do. I remember back at Andover, sixth form year and...oh, blast! (laughter in court) Crown Counsel: No further questions, m'lud. His Lordship: Re-cross? Counsel for the Defense: I can't. One of my toffees melted, and I'm stuck to my seat. The Crown Counsel summed up eloquently that I didn't deserve my current status, that I was a waste of good buckhood, and furthermore, I was a poo-poo head. This last point seemed to sway the jury visibly. Counsel for the Defense raised his paw to go number one. Granted by the Bench, which then turned to the jury. "Guilty! Guilty! Can we hang him by his hooves, m'lud?" So much for cool deliberation by twelve furs good and true. At this point, the light that had been shining in my face for nearly all of the proceedings went out with a bang. A few candles flickered into life, revealing an empty courtroom. It was just yours truly, en deshabille, facing His Lordship. The light revealed him to be a buck-fawn of terrible familiarity. There was no mistaking the little mop of blond headfur, the green eyes, and the way he twitched his left ear. "You know, you have very little to show for all your time in existence, twenty-eight years this April Fool's Day. Can you honestly look yourself in the face, so to speak, and say that you are ready to take up what our Sire, Grand-Sire, and Great-Grand-Sire have worked so hard to build up? You've spent the last number of years leaving a trail of empty bottles and broken furniture halfway around the world." "But..." A small paw was raised. "No. I'm not going to allow you to speak. You have no defense. Not even our Sire's temper could excuse the fact that you have shut yourself out from reality for years and years. What a waste. What a waste. The Sire's money and Mummy's brains should have made you something. Instead, you're just an inventive wastrel.” "Dash it, Willow doesn't think so." "For how long?" "Hang it all, I can change! I WILL change." "I'm afraid it's too late." The little buck-fawn undid a small square of black silk, and put it on top of his wig, as I gawped. "May God have mercy on our soul." All at once, I felt my antlers flaking away, dropping off bit by bit. My muscles began to shrivel and grow smaller, and that wasn't the only thing, either. I began to protest, but as I did so, my voice started to go higher and higher. Within seconds, I was on all fours, curled up in the dock, and bleating. His Lordship shook his head, flicked on the lamp, dazzling me, and then threw a lever, sending me flying through the air... *****
At first, I had felt that I had neglected to secure the windows of the suite properly. After all, the storm that had blown up was proving to be a strong one, with heavy winds, driving rain, and brilliant bolts of lightning that were striking the ocean. It did not occur to me that the cause of the loud crash might be Mr. Buckhorn striking the floor. I had just finished checking the last of the windows on the far side of the suite when I heard a splintering crash from the main room of the suite, which was repeated. Upon repairing there, I discovered that Mr. Buckhorn was in the process of breaking open the locked cabinet containing the liquor. He was making highly effective use of his hooves. There was a look in his eye that greatly concerned me, and the fact that he did not respond to my cough, as he usually did, was cause for even more concern. I was also worried that without his dressing gown, he might catch cold. Having broken open the cabinet, I found to my surprise that Mr. Buckhorn did not proceed to ransack the contents thereof with a view toward consumption. Rather, he was busily engaged in stuffing each and every bottle into a pillow-case. This was quite a task, as the number of bottles was large and the pillow-case rather small. Mr. Buckhorn knotted the top of the pillow-case, and with a wide-eyed stare, surveyed the suite, ignoring me. I must say that I felt some alarm when he spotted the verandah, and made all speed there. I was on the verge of placing myself between Mr. Buckhorn and the French door to the verandah, when I changed my mind, upon observing Mr. Buckhorn's speed. This, I felt, was not a safe course of action. Mr. Buckhorn wrenched the door open, and staggered out into the driving rainstorm. Breathing heavily, he swung the pillowcase over his head a number of times, in the Argentine fashion, and then, in time to a brilliant bolt of lightning that struck the Main Island in the distance, he hurled the pillowcase over the side. I fancied I heard a scream, but it might have been an acoustical freak produced by the storm. next |