Find Part One here (or further down the page if you don't want to click on the link.)
Awful news. Terrible events. Tuppence is in gaol (or 'jail' if you must be all 21st century about it).
He's currently 'on remand' but things aren't looking good.
'We're going to have to either fix the jury or nobble the judge,' I said, biting my hooves.
'What?' said Geoffrey, slapping me across the knuckles.
'Ouch. Pass me the vodka (we're on vodka just now, as that's what Sanity Claws left us at Yule, as he sped violently across the skies in his bean-tin chariot, dropping his load in his usual alarming fashion. It wasn't what we asked for; of course it wasn't. It's NEVER what we ask for. In all the years I've been writing letters to Sanity Claws, I've never ever got a single thing that I - )'
'TUPPY! Concentrate!'
'Ooops. Sorry Geoffrey. I started to drift. I'm just so annoyed about the vodka thing. He knows full well I dislike it and yet That's What He Brought. Or rather, dropped.'
'Will you please stick to the matter in hand? Like your nephew's incarceration-style predicament, and your responsibility as his only surviving male relative, to DO something about it?'
'I think I'm finding it too stressful to think about that Geoffrey. I'm trying to blot it out by dwelling on my resentment about the vodka.'
'Your resentment isn't putting you off drinking it.'
'No indeed. And why should it?' I sighed. I knew that Geoffrey was right. I'd have to Do Something to help Tuppence. After all, he's helped me out of several tricky situations in the past (see any of the e-books for details). And it wasn't as if he'd done anything terribly bad. He'd only kidnapped the Narks, for the very good reason that they were planning to butcher him to sell in their farm shop in the Spring. Unfortunately, or not, depending on your point of view - and mine tends towards the latter - he isn't letting on where he's keeping them. And if he's in gaol, and nobody else knows where they are, they might starve to death. And that could lead to a charge of murder - or manslaughter, at best. And murder is a hangin' offence, Hereabouts. And so is shoplifting, dropping litter, putting your washing out on a Wednesday, eating chips, farting in an enclosed space without opening a window, blowing up empty crisp packets and bursting them, smoking cigarettes At All - to list just a few offences that have suddenly appeared on the (previously empty) Rocky Outcrop Statute Book. After eons of being extremely mild-mannered and liberal, we've found ourselves Under the Cosh of a highly illiberal regime. All of a sudden, we don't mess about. At least, not in the way we used to. More of that, later. In the meantime, we can't have Tuppence strung up. .
'There's only one thing we can do,' I said, standing up and draining my glass, then flinging it into the fireplace. 'We're going to have to bust him out. Fetch the dustpan and brush Geoffrey and clean up that broken glass from the fireplace, and I'll get the gelignite from under the stairs. Let's kick some BUTT.'
More later....................
'
Awful news. Terrible events. Tuppence is in gaol (or 'jail' if you must be all 21st century about it).
He's currently 'on remand' but things aren't looking good.
'We're going to have to either fix the jury or nobble the judge,' I said, biting my hooves.
'What?' said Geoffrey, slapping me across the knuckles.
'Ouch. Pass me the vodka (we're on vodka just now, as that's what Sanity Claws left us at Yule, as he sped violently across the skies in his bean-tin chariot, dropping his load in his usual alarming fashion. It wasn't what we asked for; of course it wasn't. It's NEVER what we ask for. In all the years I've been writing letters to Sanity Claws, I've never ever got a single thing that I - )'
'TUPPY! Concentrate!'
'Ooops. Sorry Geoffrey. I started to drift. I'm just so annoyed about the vodka thing. He knows full well I dislike it and yet That's What He Brought. Or rather, dropped.'
'Will you please stick to the matter in hand? Like your nephew's incarceration-style predicament, and your responsibility as his only surviving male relative, to DO something about it?'
'I think I'm finding it too stressful to think about that Geoffrey. I'm trying to blot it out by dwelling on my resentment about the vodka.'
'Your resentment isn't putting you off drinking it.'
'No indeed. And why should it?' I sighed. I knew that Geoffrey was right. I'd have to Do Something to help Tuppence. After all, he's helped me out of several tricky situations in the past (see any of the e-books for details). And it wasn't as if he'd done anything terribly bad. He'd only kidnapped the Narks, for the very good reason that they were planning to butcher him to sell in their farm shop in the Spring. Unfortunately, or not, depending on your point of view - and mine tends towards the latter - he isn't letting on where he's keeping them. And if he's in gaol, and nobody else knows where they are, they might starve to death. And that could lead to a charge of murder - or manslaughter, at best. And murder is a hangin' offence, Hereabouts. And so is shoplifting, dropping litter, putting your washing out on a Wednesday, eating chips, farting in an enclosed space without opening a window, blowing up empty crisp packets and bursting them, smoking cigarettes At All - to list just a few offences that have suddenly appeared on the (previously empty) Rocky Outcrop Statute Book. After eons of being extremely mild-mannered and liberal, we've found ourselves Under the Cosh of a highly illiberal regime. All of a sudden, we don't mess about. At least, not in the way we used to. More of that, later. In the meantime, we can't have Tuppence strung up. .
'There's only one thing we can do,' I said, standing up and draining my glass, then flinging it into the fireplace. 'We're going to have to bust him out. Fetch the dustpan and brush Geoffrey and clean up that broken glass from the fireplace, and I'll get the gelignite from under the stairs. Let's kick some BUTT.'
More later....................
'
