ElderEpi Two
By annsmac, Bert, Jo...otherwise herein known as Me, Myself, and I...three women just having a romp...probably the

most differently done of all the ElderEpis.
                                                                    

The story continues after the end of The Orient Express

(NOTE from Jo: One day I was waiting for a train in Switzerland... this is true, believe it or not, and there tacked to a

pole was a sign that read "Danger de Mort", meaning in English, "Please refrain from touching the live wires or else

you will become toast." I stored that away in my bwain for future reference, standing there, tickled as I was at the

thought of Mort being so dangerous and all. At last the day came for such storing to be...unstored. This was that day.)

One – Jo (brief reprise of last paragraph of Orient...)

Where was my Gladiator? He had to be here somewhere! Just then my eyes focused on a sign by the electrical transformer attached to the main mast (Jack was VERY progressive!). It read in large red letters, "DANGER de MORT!!"Oh, NO! Did this mean the infamous Mort d'Arthur was aboard? What if Mort had encountered my

Gladiator!!! I crawled across the deck like a fiddler crab who'd spent too long soaking in a pot of rum. The giant, sideways jerk was still continuing, making walking nigh impossible. Reaching the railing, and after only 7 or 8

barf episodes, I managed to look over the side. The sea was GONE! Where did it go! What WAS that fuzzy thing

with intricate Persian patterns and golden fringe at either end that now our ship reposed somewhat crookedly upon?

It, and all of us with it, was being jerked rapidly sideways through the sky as though by giant invisible hands. I could

see the Channel in the distance with the white chalk of the Seven Sisters bright in spite of some fog. Whatever did

Jack's "YOU" have in mind for us? Where were we being taken? I looked back up at Jack, still in the Crowe'sNest

and, as though reading my mind, he shouted down, "Wherever it is, it won't be the sea, my little seasick CrowePerson.

I promise you that!"

I was VERY relieved...and I knew, somehow, that this ship had landing gear on its keel.

Two - Jo

It seemed like several weeks had passed, yet still we hovered over the Channel. Was this some time warp? What

WERE all those waving colors in the sky? Had this become a SciFI List? Why did Maturin keep babbling that he

(now fully visible) was a doctor, not a roomie? Why was Colin doing strange things with his fingers in odd V

shapes? But...and most important of all.... was MORT aboard? The large sign had stated plainly in its red letters..."Danger de Mort"....I knew it could have nothing to do with the electrical transformer the sign was

attached to...it MUST be a warning that Mort himself was lurking about our ship somewhere! I clutched onto

Bud's sleeve. The humongous musculature beneath the thin layer of cotton was instantly.... comforting. Then

Gladiator crossed the deck toward me, glaring darkly at Bud. His blue tunic had gotten quite wet in the backwash

of the giant rug pulling and clung most appealingly to his thighs. Ah, how safe could a girl get? Bud's biceps.... Gladiator's thighs! Just then there was a loud thump as the women who had been diligent in their efforts to free

Terry's equipment from the rigging where it had become entangled, met with success and he fell to the deck at my

feet. Ah, yes! Terry's equipment. How could I have forgotten!

The ship jolted violently...and were it not for biceps, thighs, and equipment...I surely would have been thrown to the

deck myself. Tall trees brushed past the gun ports of the ship. What was happening? Where WERE we?

The prow of the ship came to rest with its bowsprit rammed into the hollow of a giant oak. Mistletoe draped from

nearly every branch and a fog drifted over the railings, enveloping us all in its cool veil. I could hear a vague shouting

in the distance. "Mort! Mooooort!" came the repeated call. Mort! Oh NO! It was TRUE! Mort HAD escaped from

his imprisonment and was on the loose! What WAS this place we had come to....could it be? Had our previous

postings about King Arthur caused us to crash-land near....dare I breathe the name.... Camelot??

Behind me, in the silent mist, I could feel all the characters stirring. Some were already sliding down ropes over the

side of our ship. The sound of a tussle came from behind nearby low shrubbery.

"No! I want the cape!"

"No, I had it first....you can have the doublet!!"

There were loud rippings and fists were smacked into chins. I knew instantly that the characters were squabbling

over who got to be whom in Camelot. I sucked in my breath sharply as I thought of what it might come to if Jack, Maximus, Bud, and Terry ALL wanted to be king! This had to be Mort's doing!!! HE had brought us here just for

this dastardly purpose!!! I squinted my eyes and set my jaw like steel. I would stop him from carrying out his evil

plot! I would.......

Three – Ann

I would send them on a quest.

One question about the quest. Would it quench my thirst? Would it quell my hunger? Would it quiet my racing heart?

Ah.  Indeed it was a quandary.  But I knew what it would be.  It would be a  quieting, quenching, quelling and yet questionable quest for a quahog.

The Quest For The Holy Quahog.

I had to stifle a giggle. I would have made it the Quest For The Holy Quail because it rhymed with Grail and Jo so

loved rhymes except for the fact that questing for quail was much easier than questing for quahogs.

"Good Knights," I called below me. And then watched as they came grumbling into view.

Gladiator saluted me with that fist to his chest bit that Jo so loved. He was clutching his trusty sword and from the

looks of things, he was amazingly comfortable inside the suit of armor he was sporting. Terry's equipment had

become enhanced with the tights he was struggling to yank on and as he hopped around on one foot, the women

aboard with me all sighed. A few applauded.

Sid swooped near Gladiator, resplendent in an ermine-lined purple cape. I rolled my eyes. Why of course Sid went

for the purple cloak. Bud had a mace and, as he swung it mightily, his biceps were enough to set a fair maiden's

heart quivering.

"Any fair maidens aboard?" I called out. The women all looked at each other. Didn't look like it. We were a lusty

lot of wenches, after all. A fair maiden wouldn't have stood a chance.

But where was the crown? The crowning glory? And just then, Jack's long blonde hair came into view and it seemed fitting that the man with the best head of hair was sporting the crown.

"Ah, the crown jewels," I said.

"My love?" Terry called. "Didst thou sayest something about my crown jewels?"

"No, kind sir. Although perhaps later we'll have that talk." I smiled down at Terry. The tights were… I was fanning myself. "Good Sirs. I have a quest to send you on."

And I told them of the Quest For The Holy Quahog. They were to go forth forthright from this fortified ship and seek

its golden glory. But with each Good Knight, along would go a woman to record their battles, their glories, their

quest. And also to record their dalliances, their mischievous pranks and their conquests.

Especially their conquests.

"What sayest you, Good Knights?" I called below.

"We shall accept your quest, my lady," Jack replied and he was indeed the King. Turning to the men, he said in his kingly voice, "Knights, choose your ladies."

As the women all rushed toward the railing vying to be chosen for the duty, the Rose listed. And we fell. Long and

hard. A tumble into arms made to catch their ladies.

I twisted. I turned. I did a triple flip. I did a double gainer. I would have done a foxtrot and I didn't even know how

to do one. But I beat the others and felt myself drop nicely into Terry's strong arms. "Terry," I said, "will you teach

me to foxtrot?"

"Just sayeth the word, my lady," he said.

With a mighty roar, the Rose shuddered back up to it's upright stand. If we'd hung on, we might not have fallen. But

I'd already fallen hard for Terry so all's well that ends well.

And thus begins the tales of the Quest For The Holy Quahog. The first one to hop aboard a white charger and head

into the enchanted land in search of the golden quahog was…

Four– Jo

"I"...of course! Carefully....most carefully beyond compare... had I chosen the character who would be my Knight.

My thoughts, of course, had first run...and swiftly so...to my beloved of all beloveds, Gladiator.....BUT....I had

decided upon this Quest for the Holy Quahog to choose another. And who WAS my knight of all knights....who of

all the characters had the name above all names in Camelot? Why...none other than Mr. Limbo himself... Arthur!

Yes, I had chosen Arthur. He was young, he was shy, he was inexperienced in....well....combat... and other things,

but I knew in my heart that with my... guidance...that one day, yes, one fine day, he WOULD draw the sword from

the stone. He did have this annoying habit, tho, of holding conversations with owls in the middle of the night.

"Arthur," I said, "Come with me and together we will quest for quahogs through the swamps and vales."

"Oh, Venus mercenaria," he replied.

I considered smacking him, I must admit, but as he was my choice for this quest, I refrained. I sighed, remembering thighs cloaked in clinging wet blueness. "Our time will come again, beloved of my heart, " I thought, teeth clenching. Taking Arthur by the hand, we headed in a direction that would lead us away from Gladiator, Jack, Terry, Bud, Cort.....WHAT WAS I thinking!!!!

"This had better be a short quest!" That was what I was thinking. My magnanimity did have its limits, you know!!

What did one DO with a golden quahog, I wondered, if one did find it? Did one attempt to fill it with wine? Did one

set it upon one's mantle piece? Did one slip it through one's beltloop?

"Come this way, Merlina," Arthur said.

"Merlina?" I thought. "Merlina?" Then, noticing my long blue robe with the white stars sprinkled through it, I

said, "Oh!!" And, you know, I DID feel that I was "youthening" as we walked. Not bad, not bad at all! I might be

able to put up with this gig after all!

Arthur and I were afoot, but I could hear several knights on white chargers making their way through the forest not

far away. Each had a lady across his saddle in front of him. Sigh! Oh, well....this is but a single chapter in an ongoing saga. One must get out of one's holodeck from time to time.....mustn't one? Hmmm? And...I WAS in Camelot...and

with Arthur, no less!! Now, where WAS this elusive quahog?

We came to a small stream where silver ripples sparkled in the late afternoon sun. A shirtless Man was lying on his

back, letting the cool water wash away mud he had somehow gotten all over himself.  A small  dog sat nearby,

watching. I had seen that dog before...on the Orient Express. That brought eviljulia 6.7 to mind. I was glad she was

gone out of our lives forever....but...where was Mort?

A sudden thought jolted me and I almost stumbled over a root. Mort's last name was....d'Arthur!!! Oh, NO!! My

eyes narrowed as I studied my young companion. Could he be some relative of Mort's? Was I in DANGER of

Mort? Danger d'Arthur??? I shivered slightly beneath my blue cape. What HAD I gotten myself into with my choice

of companion? Why did Arthur seem like he knew where he was going in this forest he had, supposedly, never set

foot in before? Why did he know the fancy name for quahogs? What in the heck WAS a quahog??? How would I

ever be able to discern a holy quahog from a plain ole secular quahog? As if he could read my thoughts, Arthur

turned, looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes, and said, "Because the holy one is golden, Merlina! Surely you,

of all people, must know that!"

Suddenly, behind me, a branch cracked sharply, broken by some heavily-armored foot......

Five – Bert

First, 'tis time for Myself to begin her own quest.

Sir Bud! “Myself” – being me and I alone – shall straddle a strong stud, er, steed with strong-armed Bud and we’ll

no doubt want a horse too! Methinks that Bud is the perfect choice for a damsel in distress with that penchant he

has for protecting defenseless women. And I, being totally defenseless and listless (as in without internet at work), certainly need a brave and honorable man such as Bud!

I should also mention that Bud decided to forego the armor for this venture. He’s wearing his usual white short-

sleeved shirt with the arms wrapped around me and some sort of very soft buckskin trousers with his thighs close

to mine on our gentle steed, Exley of Oz. We do have our weapons at the ready in the off-chance of running into any

wife-beaters or drug kingpins on our journeys!

Our best quest guess is that the Holy Quahog of yore is buried somewhere deep in the Land of Nod and if we can

make it there before the other knights and their ladies at our outstanding deduction, the prize will be ours. And

rightfully so – after all, Bud was really the first to be mentioned in talking of Golden Prizes.

So we’re off – but first to spend the night in this charming little hovel with the lovely thatched roof and the sweet-

smelling smoke wafting from the stone chimney. Hmmm, I hear someone singing from within. And the smell of -

what is that? Some herb or potion with rosemary perhaps? What a delightful and beckoning smell…. I can already

feel myself sinking softly and slowly into a bed of soft feathers with a goblet of that delightful potion and, of course,

dear, sweet Bud at my side….

Six – Jo

At the sound of the cracking branch, Arthur was instantly alert. He actually made a rather sweet-looking lert. One

must be young to do that, you know. "Merlina!" he whispered softly, "Come quickly! Tintagel is just over yon rise!"

Oh, no....not Tintagel again! I had mispronounced that castle for so many years I feared I had forgotten which

syllable one DID stress!! "No, Arthur! I replied, "I cannot venture forth in yon direction. You must take me to

some place like...er... York ...where my tangue will not get tongueled!"

Tintagel, indeed!! "I know!" I beamed, "Let us go to Glastonbury Tor where once the fair maiden Rose of Georgia

felt the wind in her hair! I, too, want to stand before the Tor and feel the wind in my hair! I will win the crowds. I

will give them something they've never seen before!" (Ah, you can tell how far my mind had gotten away from my Gladiator, eh!!!)

Arthur agreed and with one twitch of my nose, three clicks of my heels together, a large pumpkin and several mice,

I folded my arms across my chest and blinked...and...there we were at the base of the tall green Tor. A reflecting

pool lay nearby and I wanted Arthur to see himself as the king he would someday become. He leaned over, gazing

into the deep waters....then moaned, "OMG....I become Marcus Aurelius????"

I smiled, having forgotten Sir Richard of Harris was, indeed, both. "Ah, sweet young Arthur, you see...you become

not only a song- infested old King Arthur, you also get to be a patricided Roman emperor! Two for the price of one!

And you could even have an elephant tusk rammed through your torso if you want to be Jane Clayton's father in

Africa ." He expressed no interest, for some strange reason, in the latter fate. Seeing his dismay, I rippled the surface

of the pond waters, letting them settle into a different version of Arthur's future face. He seemed better pleased with

Sir Nigel of Terry...but I thought of the silver headpiece I would then have to wear...and which always seemed to me

to be a rather migraine-inducing piece of equipment (ah...Terry!!) in the way it pressed into Merlin's forehead. No,

that would NOT do!! I stirred the waters yet again and a long sigh of satisfaction escaped Arthur's lips (a somewhat

 rare occurrence, I imagined!) "007! Now THAT'S what I want to be when I grow up!!"

Just then Vanessa Redgrave, Cherie Lunghi, and Julia Ormond came tripping merrily past, flowers and ribbons in

their long hair, singing " 'Tis May, 'tis May! The lusty month of May!" Hurriedly, I blinked, winked, clinked, etc.

and made them disappear. After all, 'tis July and only CrowePeople are allowed to be female characters in THIS Camelot!!! Where WERE the others anyhow? This tale needed some romance! It needed more than I could generate

for sweet, young Arthur! It needed.......

Seven – Ann


Oh my God.

This tale needed Me in ways most good. And bad.

Tee hee.

What follows bears little upon the Quest for the Holy Quahog, nor does it bear mightily upon the myth. Although in telling this tale of a knightly conquest, it could be the forming of another myth.

And clamming, we WILL go, but first, this humble bard will sing the tale of the first conquest because within its song

lies the romance that "I" is missing with Arthur…

Gladiator (Sir Lanciator) had given me back to Terry (Sir Tristam). As I settled upon his steed, Sir Tristam shifted

and I squirmed. "Good Sir," I whispered to him. "Be thee eager to see Me?"

"How could you tell, Me?" he replied. And he giveth to me his warmest smile, with eyes twinkling with meaning.

"Why, Sir Tristam, because your… equipment seems most… impressive," I said, in my maidenly voice and fluttered

my eyelashes at him.

He gave me a perplexed look. "My… equipment?" And then he shifted again and I squealed in delight. "Oh. That.

No, that was not my… equipment. That, my lady, was my…"

"Sir Tristam! Not in front of the lady," Sir Lanciator intoned, using a deep, commanding voice to forestall Sir

Tristam's words.

I leaned forward in the saddle and glared across the lane at Sir Lanciator. "I am still waiting to be vanquished, if

you don't mind, Gladiator," I said with a deep scowl. But, my scowl turned into a gleeful smile when I spied a sun-dappled glen beyond Sir Lanciator's shoulders… beyond his broad – oh, so broad shoulders. Sigh.

And this be where the first conquest takes place. 'Twas my virtue which lost the fight within yon dappled glen.

Sir Tristam sent Sir Lanciator ahead to scout the road to Avalon, advising him to keep a steady eye for the Farmer

King. For, if legend be right, the Farmer King be the keeper of the Holy Quahog.

And while we were alone, Sir Tristam and I had a tryst.

"Lady Me, thou knowest of my love for thee. We have danced on tabletops. We have braved trains with eviljulia6.7.

We have partied the nights away in Orleans-Upon-Mississippi . Tell me only of your love for me, my lady." His

words were spoken with romantic passion, and his eyes held mystery and moons within them.

And his kisses… well, Me does not kiss and tell, so there will be nay descriptions of his tender lip action…

But his tender mercies did speaketh to my heart. And therein lies the romance. A thousand stars glittering in the darkened sky above Avalon, a million sparks of sun's rays glistening o'er the wheat fields of Babylon , a billion

flames of candlelight flickering within Camelot's walls… None may compare to the light of our love.

(Now, ain't that romantic? I tell ya what!)

But more romantic does it get. For Sir Tristam did the dishes that night.

Could any man be more perfect? And, with his… equipment, he was quite a man.

Sir Lanciator had rejoined us for our evening's repast and he had glad tidings about the road to Avalon. Along the winding path toward that legendary land, Sir Lanciator had found the Farmer King.

But, hark, what tales are unfolding in other fields, with other knights? Who speaks there? Can it be? Is it? Ah, yes, verily, it is none other than…

Eight – Bert


Someone is singing inside that hovel! Sir Bud and Myself creep quietly up to the one small window in the hovel and

I Myself peer inside. It's very dark and smoky in there and difficult to make out anything at first. Then I Myself can clearly see rows of books lining three walls. But this is no library - the fourth wall contains a massive fireplace with

a huge black cauldron boiling over the fire. On either side of the fireplace are row upon row of little bottles filled

with different things - some look like liquid in varying colours and others look like there's something more, er,

substantial in the liquid. I Myself back away so that Sir Bud can fit his head into the tiny window and he sees dried flowers and herbs and baskets hanging from the ceiling beams everywhere.

Then, as the strange singing continues, a woman appears from nowhere.... She has long, curly, dark hair and a

long gossamer gown. She's strangely familiar but in my mind's eye I Myself picture her in hospital scrubs! Ah - it

has to be Morgana, the newly named Lady of the Lake !

Well, Sir Bud and I Myself are both very tired and hungry from all the action on the ship and desperately needing a

good night's sleep - and whatever.... Sir Bud courteously steps ahead of me to protect me from any danger and raps gently on the door to the hovel. The soft singing ceases and we hear that same soft voice, "I've been expecting you,

Sir Bud!" HEY, what about me, Myself!?!?

As I have serious second thoughts about this strange woman in gossamer scrubs, I try to back away and pull Bud with me, but it's too late. Morgana herself has opened the door and is asking us in! She seems a bit surprised to see me Myself, but behaves graciously nonetheless....

We enter the hovel cautiously and as my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, I sense that wonderful sweet,

herbal smell again. It's coming from the cauldron and I can't help but walk over and get closer to that heavenly scent!

Morgana has set a table for TWO and asks us to please sit and rest while she prepares our meal. She serves Sir Bud

a glass of some red liquid which he guzzles down hastily and then dips a ladle in the cauldron with a hot quaff for me Myself. It smells divine and tastes even better as I sip it slowly, luxuriating in the warmth it spreads throughout my

body.

Morgana begins to spread a cloth on the table and lays out all varieties of meats and cheeses and breads and invites

us to eat our fill - which Sir Bud does - seaweed and all! I have a taste of several particularly succulent looking

offerings, but I find Myself getting very, very sleepy all of a sudden. Dear sweet Bud realizes that I am quite tired

and gently lifts me and carries me to a small but very inviting bed in the corner of the room. It's soft and warm and

smells of lavender and before I realize it, I am drifting off to sleep.

The last thing I Myself remember seeing was Morgana striping Bud's shirt up over his head. I struggle to rouse

Myself, but my head is heavy and my body will not listen to what my brain is saying. I can hear Myself screaming to

wake up and get up, but somehow I can't.....

Nine – Jo

The TORrible Truth:

After deciding that he preferred the Sir Sean of Connery look for his older Arthur self, and much clinking and

blinking and winking and several pumpkins on my part, young Arthur was transformed into mature Arthur....

standing before me in all his glory...the tall green tor rising behind his quilted back. It took some cleverness on my

part, I must add, to keep him from riding off to attend Robin and Marian's wedding in Sherwood. I think it was Sir Richard of Harris' also being Marcus Aurelius that had got him thinking he was also Richard the Lionheart.

Further confusion ensued when he insisted he was ALSO Robin and it took much explanation to convince him that

he was ONLY Robin when Robin was quite old and not when Robin was young and marrying Marian.

"But..." he spluttered, "...am I not ARTHUR when ARTHUR is old? How can I be Robin when Robin is old? There can be only ONE!"

I sighed deeply. Once again Sir Sean was in the wrong movie. "No, no!" I cried. "You were a Spaniard in the "be

only one" movie!"

"A Spaniard!" he grinned in reply. "A Spaniard! Does that mean I get to be Gladiator?" My head was whirling!

"No, no, no!" I fairly shouted. "Russell gets to be Gladiator!!! "

He threw back his silver-maned head and laughed as only an immortal Scotsman/Spaniard can laugh. "Ah, HA!"

laughed he heartily. "Do you mean that fellow in the remnants of a blue plaid shirt chasing cows up the tor? You

mean HE gets to be Gladiator?"

It was then I boggled at trying to explain that , no, not right NOW did Russell get to be Gladiator as Gladiator was

off in another part of the woods being Sir Lanciator.

He lowered his eyelids halfway, looked at me seriously, and rumbled deeply, "It is the old wound!"

"No, NOOOO!" I cried yet once again! "You DON'T get to be Lanciator...you are THE KING, for Pete's sake!"

He smiled, "It is...a dream I have." He was getting closer.... right line...right character...wrong movie version. He wandered off up the tor, avoiding the multitudinous cowpies, and murmuring softly, "The land without a king.....

how will I ever find Forrester..."

I watched him wearily, wondering about that which I had wrought. I needed a change of pace! I needed a new knight!

As though carried on the wind of my wishing, the sound of hoofbeats came from around the far side of the tor. A

knight in shining armor at last!!! But...no. The knight who sat his steed before me was completely covered in dust. A knight in dusty armor? It didn't have quite the proper ring to it somehow. But then the visor was slowly raised and

the visage looking out at me from within... albeit dusty...was so handsome that a grin rose unbidden to my lips. "Hail, Knight of the Dusty Countenance, " I greeted him.

Ten- Ann

A dusty knight? Mayhaps he was a lusty dusty knight?

Whatever. 'Tis time for mine own tale of two twisted trysts to continue………

When we had left off, Sir Lanciator (Gladiator) had rejoined Sir Tristam (Terry) and me for our evening's repast

and he had found the Farmer King as he 'twas scouting the road to Avalon. The Farmer King, remember him?

Legend has it, and why legend has it will only become clear anon, but anyway legend has it that the Farmer King

s the keeper of the Holy Quahog.

And brave Sir Lanciator has found him. Dare we believe this even be true? We must, for Sir Lanciator never lies for t'would be against his strict code of honor.

There is ANOTHER reason our sweet, noble, honorable Gladiator/Sir Lanciator must not lie. To do so, dear reader, would disqualify him from the unique ability that only I, "Me," know. This be one of the final parts of the myth of the Holy Quahog, BUT 'tis not the proper time within this tale to divulge this secret. For 'tis true, yon writer of this tale

willst need this plot twist to carry the story's arc through to the denouement of this epic tale of quests, quiverings

and quandaries. But trust in this poor bard, dear readers - it twill be most worth it in the end. For so it goes, and

only Gladiator holds the key but only I know what the key is.

But this portion of our tale must continue, so continue we will.

As dawn's first rays of gold sprayed across the landscape, I woke to find myself (not Lady Myself, just Me) still in heaven. For what could be more heavenly than to wake and find Sir Lanciator on one side and Sir Tristam on the

other side?

I sighed loud enough to wake Sir Lanciator as I was facing him at the time. We smiled into each other's eyes. We

inched closer. Our fingers met and sparks flew.

We both jumped back. Sparks? Sparks! "Sparks!" I exclaimed. "Morgan Le Fey must be nearby."

Blast the witch. She'd chosen that moment to interrupt my planned tryst with Sir Lanciator? She'll get hers, I told

myself darkly. And what frustrated me most sorely about this was that Morgan was SUPPOSED to watching over Arthur. Not Sir Lanciator.

But my exclamations served to waken Sir Tristam from his slumber. I felt his arms encircle my waist, then his warm breath was on my neck. Ah, Sir Tristam. There was and always would be something about this man and his…

equipment that would tempt me.

"Enough, Sir Knight," Sir Lanciator said. "We must be off. Avalon calls."

"Is that anything like Avon calling?" I quipped.

"This, dear Lady Me, is a quest, not a quip," Sir Lanciator chided me. "Choose your steed."

My heart quaked. My thighs quivered. My breath quickened. Choose my steed, indeed. Lost in my lustful thoughts,

I had blanked out long enough for both men to mount… their steeds. Damn.

Sir Tristam pulled me up to share his saddle. "Equipment? Or something else?" I teased him.

"Something else," he teased back, giving me a lascivious wink.

"Yes, you are," I replied as he set his fine steed to a gallop and we raced to catch up with Sir Lanciator.

Not long down the road and Sir Lanciator pulled hard to a stop. We watched as he circled around, a confused frown darkening his fine countenance.

We were stopped at a fork in the road and Sir Lanciator was looking for signs of which road to take.

"The one less traveled, of course," I told him softly. Sir Tristam hugged me in tighter. He approved of the poetic reference, I could tell. After all, he is a romantic devil, that Sir Tristam.

So we set off down the lane most mortals would have avoided in the quest.

"This looks familiar, I dare believe. Yes. I believe I recognize that tree. We are on the right path for the Farmer

King," Sir Lanciator announced as we rode the road. "Tell us about the Farmer King, Lady Me, and why he is

important to the quest."

"The Farmer King, Lord Crowe de Russell, is a hermit and the last living relative of Shakespeare's favorite actor,

King Crowe Immortalus of Ira-land. Into his hands was entrusted the responsibility to be the keeper of the Holy Quahog," I told them. "Legend has it that, after the golden clam disappeared from the Masons of Hollywood,

rogue pirates, descendents of the original Knights Temperamental, were the likeliest people to have absconded

with the Quahog with the purpose of restoring it to its rightful keeper. If this be true, then the Farmer King will have

the clam we quest for – or he will knowest how we will find it so we can bring it back to King Jack."

"Why is he known as the Farmer King?" Sir Lanciator asked.

"Alas, 'tis a sad tale, that it is. The Farmer King raises cows. But he never kills them. Instead, he wanders his green

farm and calls them by name to come run with him. Most know him as the Farmer King but the natives of this

particular county have another name for him: Dances With Cows," I told them.

Suddenly, we bespied a strange form in the road ahead. Standing smack in the middle of the path, holding swords in

both hands, garbed only in black armor with a red flower in his helmet, he made a menacing sight. I shivered in Sir Tristam's arms.

Twas the Black Knight himself.

"Men," I grumbled and looked at Sir Lanciator through slit eyes. "Couldn't admit you were lost, eh, Gladiator?

Never heard of a map?"

For surely, we'd taken the wrong path. Else we would not have crossed paths with the Black Knight, Sir Denzeliosity.

"Never fear, Lady Me. I will dispatch the pretender to the throne," Sir Tristam said.

Now, this tale will continue anon.

Eleven - Bert


Myself!

I awake in the morning refreshed and invigorated with my Bud looking adoringly into my eyes. I Myself have a

slight headache but otherwise I'm fine.

Just one problem.... I don't remember anything from the night before except my dreams. I tell Sir Bud of them - all

the bouillabaisse and paella and something about a huge white whale! Dear Bud explains that our quest is for a

quahog, not a Quequeg.

Twelve – Jo

"Hail, Knight of the Dusty Countenance," I greeted him. He smiled, the dust caked on his handsome face cracking

into little roadmaps of the kingdom. Ah, I thought. Useful as well as decorative!

He lowered the tip of his long lance to the ground, a chunk of windmill sail sliding off with the movement. "Be you

my fair Dulcin....?"

"Nope," I interrupted, before he could finish the name. "Boy, you guys are sure flops at keepin' your movies

straight!!" With that, I looked back up at the tor where Sir Sean of Connery was still side-stepping cowpies,

still murmuring, "But I KNOW I was old Robin and was with King Richard when that arrow got him outside the castle...and I was old King Richard at young Robin's wedding...how can I be old Arthur... where is Q when I really

need him?"

I looked at the dusty knight before me in desperation. "Good Knight," I began....."

But 'tis yet still day..." he interjected.

I began, then, to despair of finding elusive golden quahogs in this life or the next. "My good Sir Knight," I attempted once again, "would'st dismount that I might study the map of the kingdom that doth appear on your dust-encrusted,

yet still handsome, face?"

With as much alacrity as one can demonstrate when one is a veritable sardine inside one's can, the dusty knight dismounted, knelt at my feet, and lifted his face upwards into the light. The golden glow of the afternoon sun

highlighted the cracks in the dust, and in only a moment I knew which way my path lay. Placing the softest kiss

upon his dusty lips, I said, "Thank you, good sir. My way lies plain before me."

He remounted, and rode off across the sward, singing, "Golden helmet of Mambrino...." Ah, once stuck in the

wrong movie, 'tis hard to come unstuck.

Turning my back on the tor and old Arthur, I hurried down the path through the swale. Swards and swales...ah,

'twas all just so very....English! A slender, naked man was walking before me. It was none other than Maturin

himself!! I tossed him my blue, white-starred cape as I ran past, calling out, "Wrong movie, Roomie!"

"I'm NOT a roomie, I'm a DOCTOR!" he shouted in some pique after me.

Ah, I no longer had to be Merlina! I was free...not to be "me"...nor even "myself"...I was free to be "I" once again! Endless possibilities lay before me...er...I...if only I could get past the bad grammar that was necessary to be I.

At the top of a mountain pass I could see Camelot lying splendidly in the distance. I must get there, I knew, before

Sir Tristam and Sir Lanciator and "me" returned with the golden quahog. As I hurried down the twisting trail, I

saw....

Thirteen – Bert

As we proceeded on our quest, Dear Bud related to me what had actually transpired during our night hovering in

the hovel. He assures me that there was no Morgana or Morgan la Fey or anyone there but he and I (that being

Myself, Not Lady “I”). I Myself was so exhausted from our previous adventures that I collapsed as soon as we

entered the hovel – apparently the heat overcame me and I Myself swooned with the vapuhs (you DO realize that

I Myself am a Lady from Southern Camelot).

The hovel was empty save for the soft soothing bed in the corner and the huge fireplace in which no fire was burning

and no cauldron boiling. No potions, no strange bottles with even stranger contents, no herbs or baskets hanging –

just Sir Bud and me Myself. Seems I Myself dreamt the whole sordid affair. (Once again my mind wanders to tales of yore in a land called Dallas .)

During my vapuhous swoon, Dear Bud prepared himself a meal of dried nuts and berries from an old cache he found

in the hovel, made a splendid fire, and watched over me tenderly as I Myself slept and dreamt of clams and whales and such….

He assures me Myself that he caressed me gently, but never violated me Myself whilst I slept knowing that that would

be unknightly-like! Well, DRAT, say I Myself – missed it!

But on with our journey to the Land of Nod . As we prepared to straddle our trusty steed, Exley of Oz, we could

hear in the far distance the sound of…what? Is that the noise of hooves? Please tell me Myself, I Myself say to

Myself, that Rusty has not brought all those Brangus heifers along to bloody old England !

But wait!! It sounds more like a single horse or mayhaps two…. Can it possibly be the Knight of the Dusty

Countenance or even Sir Lanciator and Sir Tristam with his…equipment?

As the hoof-beats become louder and the dust washes over Sir Bud and Myself, we both quiver with anticipation.

(Not the kind of anticipation you’re thinking of, Dear Reader, but that will come anon – have patience!)

The cloud of choking dust begins to settle and we can start to make out two grand steeds with a single rider atop

each. But who are they? I Myself can’t quite make them out….too far away yet and too much red dust – GAWD, we

need rain!

Fourteen – Ann

Well, really, now, who cares what "I" saw? Who even cares what "Myself" saw? Because this is all about "Me." Besides, anon has arrived and 'tis time to take up again the tale of two too twisted trysts.

Perchance, are there, as legend holds, Monty Python fans among the brave knaves reading this tale? If tis true, what follows does so with great beggings for forgiveness for its cheesy take on the classic. Forgive me, Monty Python fans

for my sins.

As our tale last ended, Gladiator/Sir Lanciator, being a man (and what a man), had not wanted to admit to being lost upon the road to Avalon and to see the Farmer King. Tis how we came to take the wrong fork in the road and found ourselves now facing the Black Knight, Sir Denzeliosity himself.

Menacing us from his position, clad in the blackest of black armor with a lone red flower in his helmet, he waved

two black swords, one in each hand.

Brave and trustworthy Terry/Sir Tristam leaped into the fray, intent to save me by vanquishing this dreaded foe. As

he approached the Black Knight, Sir Tristam whipped out his… equipment.

Twas quite a sight. But then, 'tis always is.

"Perhaps, Sir Knight, a sword would be more helpful?" Sir Lanciator called out, and tossed Sir Tristam his own

sword of steel.
                                                          

Grabbing the shaft in one hand, Sir Tristam thrust his other hand into his pants and emerged with… a piece of

equipment most deadly. Twas his large commando knife, which he nicknamed The Leatherman.  Indeed.

Miraculously, Sir Tristam's handsome visage was now smeared with green, black and tan paint. "Where is he?"

I whispered to Sir Lanciator as I stood next to him on the path. "It's like he's blended into the trees."

"Camouflage, my lady. He is a master in this arena," Sir Lanciator told me.

Our eyes peeled, we watched and we waited for Sir Tristam to make his move. Suddenly, Gladiator's heavy sword

swung through the air and gave a mighty gash to the Black Knight's arm. The Black Knight's red, red blood gushed

forth upon the brown, brown ground.

I averted my eyes into Sir Lanciator's chest. "Oh, my," I sighed. "Hold me tight lest I swoon, kind sir."

However, I was faking it – just a bit. Anything to be in his arms. Sigh. But, I had left one eye open so that I could

watch as my beloved Sir Tristam competed against the Black Knight.

The arm with the mighty gash dropped its sword and Sir Tristam called out, "Black Knight, dost thou concede?"

"This? It's a flesh wound. No way I'm givin' up."

Again, we saw the heavy steel sword rise in a mighty arc and when it fell, it cleaved off the Black Knight's arm. Blood rushed forward and fell upon a red-brown earth.

"Concede, Sir Black Knight," Sir Tristam said, stepping forth from the trees and wiping some of the camo paint from

his visage. "Concede, sir, and we will tend thy wounds."

"No way. Fight me. Are you a man or a little baby?"

Sir Tristam and Sir Lanciator exchanged meaningful looks. "Finish him, brother knight," Sir Lanciator told him,

giving a thumbs down.

Whack. Another mighty sword swing and the other arm of the Black Knight was separated from his body. More

blood spilled forth, though not nearly as much, and now it joined the knight's other lifeblood on the nearly red

ground upon which he trod.

Sir Tristam turned, shaking his head.

"Get back here. I'm ready to kick you to death," the Black Knight called, thrusting his legs out, one at a time as

Sir Tristam dodged them easily.

Whack. And his legs were no longer attached. Little blood was left within the poor knight's body.

"No more, I beg you, Sir Tristam. The man is dead already," I said.

"No. Get your a** back here," the Black Knight said.

"My Lords, he is never going to cede. But look how noble he remains," I said. We watched in amazement as his

torso tried to follow Sir Tristam and the Black Knight's teeth gnashed in a frustrated attack.

Rolling his eyes to heaven, Sir Tristam stepped forward one more time and… Whack! There went the head,

rolling upon the now-solid red earth.

We mounted the steeds once more. I chose to ride with Sir Tristam as reward for his bravery, although against

an unworthy foe, but still 'twas bravery made him face the wrath of the Black Knight.

"Hey! Get your a**es back here. Come back here and fight me like men." I looked over Sir Tristam's shoulder

as we rode back to take the other fork, and saw the Black Knight's head, still rolling and mouth still moving.

"Must still be his training day," I said to Sir Tristam. "He has not yet fully learned the lessons of playing a bad

guy."

My two knights agreed. And thus our tale takes another break. Verily, we will continue anon and in the next verse,

we will sing the praises of the Farmer King.

Fifteen – Jo

"I" saw Camelot lying splendidly in the distance.....and, deciding to leave all the chopping, slicing, and dicing of

enemy knights to "me"'s storyline, turned aside from my path when I beheld an empty swing dangling from a large

and shady tree. Daisies and pink rosebuds had been woven around its ropes and the seat was cushioned in violet

velvet. Having walked and run for a good 342 miles this afternoon, I decided to rest a while in this lovely spot. As

I settled comfortably upon the violet velvet, two strong hands were placed atop mine on either side where I held the ropes.

Breath, redolent with wild figs and old wine, came warmly upon my cheek as the as yet unseen knight leaned forward

to whisper in my pink, shell-like ear, "I was hoping you would come this way."

Turning my head I beheld Sir John Longhair de Biebe. Ah, I thought, I had wondered where YOU were in this story!!! Taking my hand, he led me more deeply into the shade where a soft fleece had been spread among the wild lilies. A

small stream sang delightful stream-songs as it flowed over smooth stones not far to one side and large-tailed golden

fish leapt and turned flips in the air. As we sat together upon the fleece, a row of grey bunnies stared at us with large brown eyes, fawns nuzzled our elbows, and bluebirds wove pink ribbons into their nest above our head. Cherry petals floated down upon us like pink snowflakes.

Wow! I thought. Disney incorporated!!! This man was GOOD! He handed me a scroll of faded parchment bound with

a white satin bow. Unrolling it, I noticed most of the script had been carefully marked out, leaving only radiant words

he wished to communicate to my heart. I sighed. It was about time I had a little romance in this tale of the quest!

Quahog? I cared not for quahogs at such a time as this! Let "me" grub through the underbrush in search of the

beastie. "I" was content upon my Biebed fleece!!!

Sixteen – Bert

Suddenly, Sir Bud gasps as if seeing old friends and I can barely make out two figures coming toward us. One seems

very slight with lovely hair blowing in the dry breeze while the other is a bit on the well-fed side and has almost white hair….

Oh, dear, can it really be? YES, it’s Jeff and Jeffrey! I Myself can make them out now! Oh how could this Lady be

so fortunate as to be surrounded by three of her favorite characters! And what else could Sir Bud and Myself need on

our quest more than a plumber with all the right, er, tools and a scientist who can identify safe plants for us to use for food and whatever….

J & J explain to Sir Bud and me Myself that they too are in search of the Holy Quahog as Jeffrey was wrongly

deprived of it some years past. Their journey has been long, but without grief and they are prepared to venture on without rest.

So the four of us set out together…Myself riding with Dear Bud with those strong arms wrapped around me and

those protective ways of his enveloping my whole being. (Alas and alack, why ever did I Myself fall asleep last night? Perhaps tonight…a ménage a trez!)

J & J ride on either side of us – Jeff riding his beautiful Palomino, Spencer, and Jeffrey astraddle Wallace of

Michaelton – a steed, he explains, who can only carry his weight for 60 minutes without a brief rest. As we ride off toward the West, Sir Bud and Myself explain to J & J our plan to make our way to the Land of Nod (which I Myself apparently made an unplanned journey to during the night!)

J & J then begin to relate the tales of their travels and the news they have met with along the way. News of a Farmer King and a Dark Man who seem to be gathering groups of people from across the land for what purposes they yet

know not. It seems that both are hell-bent on establishing some ilk of thing that they call The Stand!

In my mind’s eye (that of Myself), I seem to be seeing something about a land where there is an old woman at a tiny

farm house and another place where there are bright lights and huge towers and it smells of….what? I Myself drift

into and out of daydreams and find myself picturing this Dark Man with a long black coat and black boots and

beautiful hair striding away…. Dare I truly yearn for this man when I Myself am surrounded by Dear Bud and J &

J…. Oh, I must call Myself back to the task at hand! “MYSELF! Come back!”

Seventeen – Ann

And so we return, brave readers, to the tale of a too, too twisted tryst tale by Lady Me…

The Black Knight was vanquished and we were on our way again. Once we set out upon the proper tine of the fork

in the road, it was but a brief jaunt to the path that led to the land of the Farmer King. However, upon reaching the shelter of the outback land of this farm of cows, the two mighty steeds upon which our party rode reared up and

nearly dislodged we mortal riders.

When at last the beasts were under control, Gladiator/Sir Lanciator leapt from his horse, crying, "Something most

foul has spooked the horses. Quickly, let us not tarry. Let us not wait. Let us be brave. Let us echo into eternity. Let

us harken. Let us…"

"For pity's sake, brother knight, let's just go kick some a**," Terry/Sir Tristam growled.

Both men took off at a dead run. They knew whatever had spooked the horses was even then hiding in yon barn.

As I waited for them to return, I wandered into the house of the farm. Ah. What mysteries would I uncover about

the mysterious, reclusive Lord Crowe de Russell? I had not long to wait.

There in the central room, o'er the hearth, upon the mantle was a Celtic cross. I gazed upon it and read the runes engraved thereon. They told a tale. And what a tale they told. Good thing I read rune, eh?

The tale told of a young boy who wandered the land searching for the opportunity to sing and wear fishnet hose.

When that day, that glorious day, finally arrived, he saw his path clear. Twas a path that took him by day into the

fields to dance with cows and call them by name; and by night, to strum his lyre and sing songs of pious (and not so

pious) love to maidens fair at a pub known as deStubbs.

"But what about this acting? This calling of his blood?" I wondered aloud.

"I leave that to my characters," Lord Crowe spake to me. I turned to find the one who dances with cows there

before me. His smile not haunted but jaunty, his eyes shining in the light and his hair…

"My goodness. You have magnificent hair," I said.

"And you, Lady Me, are but a hair's breath from the final clue of the quest," Lord Crowe said. My, but his voice.

'Twas so familiar.

Just then, the brother knights came tumbling through the door. They had found the source of the spooking. 'Twas

none other than Sir GalaHando!

Oh. What a sight he made. Menacing scowl marring the beautiful countenance. He was clad all over in white mail.

Which 'twas quite nice, truth be told, for mail is, well, um, easy to see through. And I could not stop staring at Sir GalaHando and his… tattoos.

"Sir GalaHando! Where is your lady? And why are you here at the Farmer King's domain?" I asked him.

He sneered at me but Sir Lanciator gave him a mighty backhand as punishment for his less-than-chivalrous behavior toward me.

"Ow. That hurt," he said. Then he turned his eyes back to me. "Lady Me, I bear bad tidings. No one claimed me. In

fact, many of my brother knights are even now riding about the countryside without a lady. I was hiding here in hopes some would come to visit Lord Crowe and that I would be able to snatch one to be my scribe. After all, this Crowe

mate seems to be quite the lady magnet."

But Sir Tristam and Sir Lanciator would not shed tears for Sir GalaHando. Instead they tied him upon his steed and

set the horse racing over the countryside, scattering Lord Crowe's cows hither and yon.

When he was gone, Lord Crowe told us the final clue about the Holy Quahog. It had come back into his possession.

But, he was much too busy birthing new baby cows and making up new names to call his new baby cows to be

bothered guarding a golden clam, he told us. Besides, he told Sir Lanciator, he preferred not to get too wrapped up

in the race for the Golden Statues. His life, he professed, twas devoted to pursuit for pursuit's sake. Therefore, he entrusted the golden clam with a woman most powerful and wise.

"Who is this woman?" I asked him. "And where may we find her? And, dear lord, who are you pursuing?"

"I will ignore the pursuing joke, Lady Me. Instead, I will tell you about the woman. She is the Dame du Étang," he

aid. "Finding her will not be difficult. But getting the Holy Quahog from her will be. She will only entrust it to a man

who proves capable of claiming the clam. And, therein lies the rub. For claiming the clam requires a special man who

is able to meet the Dame's challenge. And only that man will be given the right to try to claim the Holy Quahog."

He gave us a map upon which twere the directions to where we wouldst find the Dame du Étang. It was but a short distance away.

Sir Tristam volunteered to scout the way this time and Lord Crowe wanted to go do some cow dancing. That left Sir Lanciator to my wiles. I mean… tee hee… that left me to Sir Lanciator's advances.

Honest. He made the first move. I swear.

Well, I mean, I know he's going to tell you I jumped him the moment the other two were gone, but who would you believe? Lady Me, your humble scribe? Or the man who cannot lie?

Oh. Yes. You've got a point.

Okay. I admit it. So I jumped right up onto his lap. Still, he did not exactly object, if you get my drift. Strong chest

(he was wearing his armor still, drat), strong arms (same armor) and soft lips (fooled you, eh? He'd taken off his

helmet.) And, oh my, what a sword!

This be where discretion leaps into the story. And in its wake, leaps another with a tale most deep…

Eighteen - Jo

As comfortable as I was upon my Biebed fleece, I knew I must get "I" hence to Camelot before the falling of the Knight...er... night. "Adieu, adieu...my long-haired love," I called out reluctantly to Sir John as once more I headed

down the trail toward Camelot.

Camelot! In far off France I heard your call! Camelot! Camelot! Here am I to give my all!!! Sir Lanciator was

otherwise occupied quahogging with Lady "Me" so I must needs singeth his song in his stead. Yes...where in the

world WAS there in the world a man so untouched and pure? None compared to my incomparable Lanciator du

Lac.

But what was this...this...THING...that now appeared before mine eyes in the last rays of the evening sun? Whatever

it was was dressed in a cape of red and yellow and green and brown and scarlet and black and ocher and peach and

ruby and olive and violet and fawn and lilac and gold and.... well... LOTS more colors!!! He was turning in wide circles

as he made his way down the trail, swirling his cape out about him as he went and singing, "I look handsome, I look smart, I am a walking work of art! Such a dazzling coat of many colors...how I love my coat of many colors..."

Ah! 'Twas Sir Sidney du Goo! "Sir Knight," I called as I approached. "Art thou goething to Camelot, lying splendidly

in yon valley?"

He stopped and studied distant Camelot for a long while, taking in the sight of the sunset glinting off its silver towers

and turrets. Smiling at last, he replied, "Yes, I think it is quite splendid enough to be graced with my presence." And

with that, he  continued his twirling  descent,  singing,  "And where in the world is  there in the  world a man so extraordinaire?" He liketh himself far too well, I thought.

Walking on, I next happened upon a  young knight  dressed all in blue  and holding a  bouquet of bee-covered

wildflowers in his hand. It was Sir Lachlan Locksley...a relative of Robin's, no doubt. I stopped beside him and he

gazed at me with great sadness welling in his blue/green eyes, singing softly, "I loved you once in silence, and

mis'ry was all I knew..."

Well, I thought....Camelot 'TIS a MUSICAL, thou knowest!!! I told him I would meet him in the Great Hall later that evening. Sir John Longhair de Biebe was also coming to Camelot, and I had told him I would meet him on the grand staircase. But....well....!

Next I came to a very young knight, fresh out of squiredom. He bore a large "X" upon his shield to proclaim his new

title of Sir Johnny du Crossing. I remembered now that, though he had avoided the Orient Express, he had, indeed,

been plopped out of the box onto the deck of the ship. I was glad to see him take an active part in the saga and

pleased, too, to note his front tooth had now been fixed. I was sure that the repair would only aid in his career as a

knight errant. He sang, " I know in my soul what you expect of me, and all that and more I shall be!" We arranged

to meet in the back hallway.

A cloud of dust approached from behind me, filling the air around Sir Cort of the Court, Knight of the Dusty Countenance. When it had settled, he smiled down at me and sang, "Had I been made the partner of Eve, we'd be

in Eden still." I had no doubt of that!! We agreed to meet in the chapel.

How HARD "I" was working to turn the saga into a musical AND gather all the characters in Camelot!!! I was

facing west when Sir East came up behind me. I should have known! East would ALWAYS be behind me when I

faced west!!! He tipped his visor fetchingly and sang, "It's here! That shocking time of year, when tons of wicked

little thoughts merrily appear!"

How did I know he was thinking of the barn? But I had to get to Camelot before the sun entirely set, so I told him I

would meet him later that evening in the stables.

As I neared Camelot, there was yet another knight enroute. This was Sir Zack l'Agent. His steed looked quite the

worse for wear and was, indeed, unridable and he was forced to push it along by its rump in a most unknightly

manner. Dear Sir, if thou dost ever maketh it into the city, I will meet thee in the courtyard. But his steed was progressing so slowly that he sang loudly to my on-going back...."Here we are, my love, and not far, my love, from

where we were before.....!"

Ah, another tryst!!! HOW was I going to be in so many places at the same time? When was "ME" going to bring Lanciator and Tristam to Camelot? What was coming next? ....

Nineteen – Ann

And now begins another verse from your scribe, Lady Me.

When last we visited, our trembling threesome had received the final clue from Lord Crowe de Russell to help us in

our Quest For The Holy Quahog. Along with the clue he gave us a map to find the Dame du Étang.

Which 'twas a good thing. For I did not want to follow another man down another wrong path, if you catcheth my

drift.

However, before we left, Lord Crowe gave me something else to take along. Its mysteries he refused to divulge,

simply telling me that the Dame du Étang would rise from her lair when we flung it upon her covering waters.

Dame du Étang, as she is known in the quahog quest mythology, is known in my native land as the Lady of the Pond.

'Tis said that one must have a special something to convince the Lady to rise up from her waters and greet thee.

And Lord Crowe has given us "it" – the thing he claims will get her to rise up. I took it most graciously from his

hands, even though it seemed an odd thing to give me.

As we rode from Lord Crowe's farm of cows, I was riding with Gladiator/Sir Lanciator. Seemed appropriate, as

we had shared a night most divine… Oh. Drat. I'm still not kissing and telling. But, I will say this, he was no longer

in his armor. He was now wearing his blue tunic. Still had that mighty sword, as well. Twas a delightful ride that morning, to be sure.

"Fair Lady Me, where is the smile of last eve?" Sir Lanciator whispered in my ear. I smiled into those eyes, I swam

in those arms, I nestled into that chest… And dang near forgot the question.

"Well, it is this… thing that Lord  Crowe has bade us to take with us and toss upon the golden pond,"  I replied,

holding the thing in two fingers before us. "Tis a tattered thing, is it not, my knights?"

Terry/Sir Tristam said, "If I didn't know any better, I would think it was a shirt for it is flannel and its pattern seems familiar. But it is filled with such holes…"

Just then, I believe the meaning hit us all. "Because it's full of holes, it must qualify as something holy," Sir Lanciator said. "That must be it. We must need to fling something holy upon the waters in order to call forth the lady of the

pond."

I held the thing up in both hands and we looked hard upon it. Indeed. Sir Tristam was right – as he most often is,

too right – and it was a holy blue flannel shirt. And, this I knew, it was also something precious to the Farmer King

for, verily, he hast refused to giveth this holy shirt up for many years.

In a short time, we reached the golden pond. It shimmered in the sunlight and it glittered richly before our eyes. A mesmerizing sight, that it was. I gave the holy shirt to Sir Lanciator and he tossed it with a mighty toss. We three watched as it settled upon the calm waters. Slowly, it sank beneath the surface. Nothing happened.

"Perhaps it takes time," Sir Lanciator said.

"Maybe it needs to reach the bottom before she comes," Sir Tristam said.

"I hope we haven't offended the Lady of the Pond with it," I worried.

Suddenly, the water began to roil. Then it seemed to boil. Then we recoiled. Up from depths, the Dame du Étang arose

in all her glory. And totally dry. How is that possible? Well, 'tis a land of mysteries.

In her hand was the holy shirt. She smiled upon us. "Thank heavens someone finally got him to get rid of this old

thing," she told us. "Lord Crowe de Russell must have found you worthy vassals, else he wouldst never have sent

you to me bearing the holiest of his holy shirts. Why do you call me forth?"

We told her of the quest. She nodded when we explained the purpose was to bring the gold clam back to King Jack

to assure his rightful ascension to the Oscar crown.

"Tis a noble cause," the Lady said. "And that passes the first challenge. Therefore, I will let one of you step forward

and take the next challenge. But, I warn you. Choose your champion most wisely. It must be a person of great moral character who has led a virtuous life of duty and honor. And, most importantly, he must possess already his own

golden glory."

We huddled together to discuss this. It took about two seconds. After all, Sir Lanciator had proven his great moral character. His entire life was of duty and honor. He was certainly far more virtuous than me, your humble scribe.

And, most importantly, he had already possessed the golden glory, the prize immortal - the Oscar - which Sir Tristam

did not.

"But Sir Tristam," I whispered in his ear, "you remain immortal in my heart and I will sing to all of your glory for

you are a man most brave and most noble. And, verily, you would be more loved if not for the hack and the hag. Although, were they to get a full gander at your… equipment, then 'twould not be just Lady Me on this quest with

you."

Sir Tristam embraced me and we shared a tender moment. Truth? I 'twould always hold a quite special lust for Sir Lanciator, but 'twas Sir Tristam to whom I would cleave for love.

So it is written. So it will be. Twas now Sir Lanciator's time. He faced the Dame and he faced her challenge. We

watched as she snapped her fingers. Before her rose a large rock. Upon it was the Holy Quahog. We recognized

it immediately for it was golden and it was a clam.

"Can you claim the clam?" she challenged Sir Lanciator.

Without a further hesitation, he accepted the challenge.

But, dear brave readers, 'tis out of time to tell of how and whether Sir Lanciator is successful. For that, stay tuned

to Lady Me's next verses. But, until then, tune in to another tale of teasing from another's scribbling....

Twenty - Bert

And if you recall, when last you heard from Myself, I was calling Myself back - quoth:

"I Myself drift into and out of daydreams and find myself picturing this Dark Man with a long black coat and black

boots and beautiful hair striding away…. Dare I truly yearn for this man when I Myself am surrounded by Dear Bud

and J & J…. Oh, I must call Myself back to the task at hand! 'MYSELF! Come back!'"

I jerk in the saddle as Sir Bud's strong arms squeeze me tighter and I hear his sweet, husky voice in my ear, "You're talking to yourself, Dearest Lady Myself! Did you forget to take your meds again?"

Oh, no, Sweet Bud, "I Myself respond casually. "I remember the tales you've told me of Sir Nash and all the strange

and terrible things that he sees and does when he forgets his meds! Myself would never do that to My Bud and J & J.

I was merely day dreaming about the adventures we might encounter on our Quaint Quahog Quest."

Dear Bud smiles sweetly and kisses me gently on the neck as I tingle and shiver in his arms. I snuggle closer to him in

the saddle and sigh dreamily thinking about the night to come…. Ah, Bud!

The day wears on and we encounter no one as we go from flat, open fields and pastures into more hilly climes with

low undergrowth and then into a dark dense forest. As evening nears, the wind picks up and it's a chill, damp wind.

I begin to quiver and shiver in Dear Bud's strong arms and he draws me closer still. J & J continue to ride to either

side of Myself, Sir Bud, and Exley. From time to time, one or the other of the J's rides ahead a bit to scout the land

for a good place to stop for the night.

Suddenly we come upon a clearing with the remains of an old fire in the center and large trees with great protecting limbs covering the entire glade. There's a small flowing stream with cool clean water and what seems to be a hot

spring a bit off into the woods - we can see steam rising up through the trees just a short way from the clearing.

"The first thing I shall do is have a hot bath,"  I Myself say to Dear Bud, who replies with a soft grin,  "Wrong

character, My Dearest."

J & J busy themselves gathering firewood as Dear Bud unloads our small bundle of provisions. He lays out our

pallets among the soft grassy area around the fire and spreads a cloth where we can sit and partake of our

evening repast.

I Myself make my way carefully to the warm spring undressing as I go and leaving bits of clothing here and there

on the branches along the path. As I slip into the soothing water and work the soreness out of my aching body, I think

to Myself, "I need to believe that something extraordinary is possible."

Suddenly, the world around me is covered with a soft golden light and I see that there are all manner of flowers

hanging from the trees above and around the spring. Everything imaginable from roses to orchids to daisies to lilies

to tulip - the smell is intoxicating. It's very quiet except for the soft bubbling of the spring and I Myself can hear the stream rippling from the other side of the glade.

Ah, this simply has to be heaven…. All thoughts of clams and oysters and Farmer Kings and strings and sealing wax

and things leave my mind as I wonder to Myself, "What will the evening bring? 'Things have got to change' from last night's unfortunate passing --or should I Myself say, passing out?"

But before we proceed with my tale, Dear Reader, one of the others has more or her tail, er, tale to share….

Twenty-one - Ann

Merrily, I come to you once more. And why am I merry? Because this tale be twisted most hopelessly in trysts of

twos. Two knights, two nights. Good nights, good knights. And soon, Camelot will be in sight.

But as our tale left off last, it 'twas the time of Gladiator/Sir Lanciator. He had stepped forward to accept the

challenge of the Lady of the Pond. Without a pause, he gripped his mighty sword and walked across the pond's

water toward where the Dame herself stood next to the large rock upon which clove the golden clam, the Holy

Quahog itself.

"I, Sir Lanciator, in the name of King Jack, do claim the clam," he intoned. My heart sped at the sound of his voice.

"Sir Knight," the Dame du Étang said, "here is your prize for which you have valiantly quested."

Sir Lanciator reached for the golden clam… he touched it… he pulled against it… he gave it a mighty heave… he

put his foot upon the rock for leverage and yanked it with all his might. It twould not budge.

Terry/Sir Tristam and I traded glances fraught with worry. But for naught.

The Dame du Étang giggled and we three looked at her askance. "Oh, I am so sorry," she laughed, slapping her

knee and then wiping tears of glee from her eyes. "I just love doing that to challengers. It's just too funny to see y

ou huffing and puffing and pulling and yanking with all your might. And I do so love to see those muscles ripple as

you do. But… here's the thing. The clam won't budge that way. You need the proper tool to cut it loose."

"Stop!" I whispered to Sir Tristam as he whipped out his equipment, knowing he had the right tool. "Only Gladiator

can do this. He must use his own tool."

Sir Lanciator smiled at me over his shoulder. We both knew he had the right tool for the job. He took a step back,

raised his mighty sword high and swung it fiercely down toward the clam.

The golden clam fairly leapt from the rock, flying high into the air, soaring up and up until we feared we might never

see it again. But… Wait… Down it came again. Sir Lanciator snagged it before it fell into the golden pond.

"Good Sir! You have earned the right to bear the Holy Quahog and to bestow it upon your good King Jack," the

Dame cried out. "But harken to me, Sir Knight. Only you may touch it until you give it to King Jack. Any other

mortal who dares to feel its gilt will not live to see another re-broadcast, not even on cable. Now, hurry to Camelot.

Your echoing eternity awaits you."

My knights went to their steeds. I waved goodbye to the Dame. Sir Tristam swooped me into his arms as he sped

past.

And we were off for Camelot with the Holy Quahog. Pray with me, brave readers, that no dragons or other foul creatures lie in our path between and betwixt here and Camelot. Tis important we not be delayed in reaching our

goal of Camelot. For Lady I has most foolishly het up the blood of one too many knight for this fine night to end well.

 I fear for Lady I. How will she satisfy so many men without causing jealousy among the brothers?

What will the next tale tell? Let us get to it quickly…

Twenty-two- Jo

As "I" approached the massive gates of fabled Camelot, I turned for one last look up the winding mountain trail. Not

far from me Sir Zack l'Agent was pushing his battered steed. I was to meet him in the courtyard. Behind him came

Sir East, whom I was to meet in the stables. Next was Sir Cort of the Court, heading toward our meeting in the chapel. Sir Johnny du Crossing was preparing for our meeting in the back hallway. It was the Great Hall where I was to meet Sir Lachlan of Locksley. Beyond him twirled Sir Sidney du Goo. I had made no specific plans that I could recall with

him, thank goodness! But it would never do for him to find me dallying with some other knight. And, last but certainly

not least, was Sir John Longhair d'Biebe, whom I had told to meet me on the grand staircase. Seven knights...I felt week...er...weak! What was I to do?

Ah, inspiration!!! I unsheathed my keyboard and sent forth a kingdom-wide call to Crowedom. I had no sooner

crossed the drawbridge and passed under the portcullis than volunteers were appearing in every doorway. You could always count on a CrowePerson to lay down her personal joys in featherdusting or doing bank accounts and make t

he great sacrifice of privately trysting with a character knight. How noble they all were! Each one of them willing to become "I" for the nonce and meet a knight in an assigned rendezvous. I was saved from myself (who was actually

still off with Sir Bud and the Two J's) and my foolish multiplicity of assignations by the generous and willing nature

of my sisters!

Now having a few free moments to spare as I awaited the arrival of "me" and her lusty duo of quahog questors, I wandered out to the tourney grounds where Sir Steven ben Photographin' was jousting with himself as was his

habit since he had a hard time telling if he were coming or going.

"Sir Steven!" I called out merrily as he shattered his lance on his own shield. "Are you coming?"

He shrugged, "I knoweth not, my lady. I may be going." Poor Sir Steven. I feared some day he would come to regret

this pattern in his life.

I looked around. Ah, there he was, sitting in the stands, elbows resting up on the seats behind him, big grin on his face.

 I could always locate Sir Alex the Rough. He was the only knight who wore the grey fedora atop his helmet at such a jaunty angle! Yes, the knights were definitely gathering in Camelot for some momentous event! Surely "myself"

would arrive shortly with Sir Bud the Wiser and the Two J's? Lanciator and Tristam were with "me", so I knew

they were accounted for. Who was not in Camelot? The Man-ly Knight of No-Name....would he come? One never

knew. He liked to be alone in far places with only his dog. The crowds of Camelot would not be to his taste. Squire

Andy le Dishe was in the scullery, awaiting the soon-coming day of his knighting. He showed all the makings of a fine jouster and one only hoped he developed better taste in his choice of ladies. Count Colin of Hirsuteshire! Where was

he? My eyes scanned the crowd for a helmetless knight. The legendary bulkiness of his cheek hairs had ever

prevented the wearing of that topmost piece of armor. Yes, that was him over by the tent flap. Some day I would

have to ask him why he always looked like he was on the run from someone. Just then a row of trumpeters sounded

their instruments and....

Twenty-three - Bert

And, schmand....

Back to my Myself's hot bath….

As I lie, er, lay, er, recline in the spring and ponder what more I could possibly want to be sublimely content, I hear

the rustle of the trees and flowers surrounding the spring. I open my eyes and there I see my adoring and beloved Sir

Bud - he wears only his trousers now as he has slipped free of his soft shirt and boots. I Myself can see from here how

his bare chest rises and falls and his breathing is audible even at a distance.

My own breath quickens as he gets closer and then sheds his trousers to reveal sparkling white briefs - my (meaning Myself's - not Lady My's) mind wanders briefly with thoughts of "Hey, you're not Sir GalaHando!" but just as

quickly returns to My Bud. As Bud slides into the spring beside me, he looses himself from his one remaining

garment and we are in each others' arms, pressed flesh to flesh at last!

Bud takes my chin in his big, powerful hand and begins to nibble gently on my lower lip…. Suddenly we hear a noise

like a baby kangaroo stampeding through the glade and the trees surrounding the spring. "Oh drat, what now?" I Myself think.

From amongst the trees bursts Jeff in all his glory at a headlong sprint coming straight for the spring. With a grin

and a giggle, he shouts, "Hey, mates, make room for me!" At that very instant he jumps full tilt into the spring

leaving half the contents of said spring on the ground around it! I Myself can't help but notice what a waste of

water that was - strange that he didn't mention it himself!

I snuggle closer into Bud's arms and try to calm my breathing and overcome an awkward moment by asking,

"Where's Jeffrey?"

Jeff replies, "Oh, he's over by the fire trying to determine the molecular weight of some mineral he found. He'll be along in a jif."

"Oh, jolly!" methinks…. "The more, the merrier," not really clear in my own mind whether I'm being sarcastic or

nay.

"At this rate, we may never make it to 'Cam-e-lot - I know it gives a person pause' (or it that paws)! Hmmmm....is

that such a terrible thing?" I Myself ponder.

But lest I Myself be selfish with my tale of romance and adventure and wanton lust, I Myself shall return you to

another fair lady for further falderal, frolicking fun and twisted trysting…. (Type THAT three times fast!)

Twenty-four - Ann

Welcome, brave knave readers. If you've lasted this far, you are verily worthy of a medal. For 'tis been a strange and twisted tale. And anon 'tis it will be over. Verily, I say to you.

But do hang with your scribe, Lady Me, for this verse, I pray thee.

When we were together last, our valiant, honorable and impeccably honest Gladiator/Sir Lanciator had snagged the

Holy Quahog. He had placed it in a pouch that he has hung around his neck with a black leather cord. Tis quite a stunning fashion statement for the pouch is a beautiful shade of orange and goes quite well with his blue tunic.

And I was riding with my Terry/Sir Tristam and his… equipment. We were heading for Camelot and we were intent

on making good time. Who knew what awaited us along the way? We were soon to find out. For as we crested the l

ast rise and could see the rays of light emanating from Camelot, we espied one… last… obstacle.

"Oh, good God. Will we never get to Camelot? Why is it that our tale includes danger and the other tales do not?"

I asked my knights.

"Because, Lady Me, you are with the characters most likely to win a quest. And that always entails a dangerous adventure," Sir Lanciator told me.

"Tis true, fairest one," Sir Tristam said. "Surely you did not expect us to say `run away, run away' when we came

upon a challenge?  'Tis not in our natures."

A chill chased down my spine. "Oh, Sir Tristam. You should not have raised the ghost of the Monty Python version

of this tale. I fear there are fans of that classic who will make us all pay for the travesty I did in an earlier chapter

with the Black Knight."

Our eyes studied the final obstacle before us. It was a mist-shrouded gorge so deep one could not see its bottom. Spanning this wicked gorge was a bridge of wood. As we approached, Sir Tristam pointed to the sign pointing to

the bridge. Upon its face was the legend: "The Bridge of Death ."

Yikes. I shuddered. Sir Tristam held me closer. I shuddered again. Anything to have those arms grip me even tighter.

Standing guard at the bridge was the Keeper. "Halt. Whoever wants to pass this way must answer three questions to pass in safety. Fail to answer a question correctly, and you will be cast into the Gorge of Failed Films."

We looked at each other. I had the advantage here, for verily, I have seen the film. "Sir Tristam, you go first. Trust

in me, my love."

He strode boldly to the Keeper. The Keeper asked, "What is your name?"

"Sir Tristam," our brave knight answered.

"What is your quest?"

"I quest for the Holy Quahog."

"What is your favorite color?"

"Blue."

"Good answers. You may pass."

Sir Tristam led his steed across the bridge but we soon lost him in the mists.

"I'll go next," I told Sir Lanciator. "Trust in me."

I approached the Keeper and he asked me, "What is your name?"

"Lady Me of the CrowePersons."

"What is your quest?"

"I quest for the Holy Quahog."

"What is the film-speed velocity of 30-odd feet of grunts?"

"Be that American grunts or Australian grunts?" I asked the Keeper.

"Um… I don't know… Aaaaarggghhh!" the Keeper replied and some unseen force swept him over into the gorge.

Sir Lanciator and I stepped toward the edge of the gorge and looked down into it. "How did you know that trick?"

he asked me.

"Misspent youth," I replied. "And a very sick sense of humor."

He rewarded me with a kiss. And we took off over the bridge. The mists were fierce and I clung tightly to Sir Lanciator for protection. We made it to the other side safely and found Sir Tristam waiting for us. He also rewarded me with a

kiss. I could definitely get used to their reward system, I thought.

When we emerged from the mists, the golden arches of Camelot greeted us. Both my knights mounted their… steeds (drat!). Once again, I had a choice to make. But this one carried great import because whosoever I chose to ride with

at this juncture would be the one I'd ride in Camelot. Er. That didn't come out quite right. What I meant to say was it would be the one I'd ride with into Camelot. Although, actually, the other one works well for me, as well.

Was there ever any doubt? Of course, I chose Sir Tristam and his… equipment. My nights would go for this knight.

So 'twould my days.

Within moments, we were at the gates.  We could see King Jack waiting for us within the courtyard.  A row of

trumpeters sounded their instruments to announce our arrival with the Holy Quahog.

Who else was there? Who was waiting for us? Would there be a celebration? Would all the brother knights be

gathered round the Round Table? Where was Lady Myself?

Who has the answers? 'Tis none other than…

Twenty-five – Bert

If you recall, I Myself was last to be found in a hot spring with none other than Dear Bud and Jeff! Not to worry, kind

Peeps, through the magic of ABM special effects pros, I do NOT look like a prune from soaking so long, but remain my beautiful Myself in the flawless blossom of youth!

Nonetheless, I remain reclining in the spring pondering what the rest of the evening will bring - comtemplating the

possbilities of a menage a trois (which I Myself believe to have earlier in this saga mistakenly termed a menage a trez -

having momentarily forgotten Myself yet again - meds, you know!).

BUT...it seems that the spring is a bit too warm for young Jeff and he abandons Sir Bud and Myself for the cool stream

across yon glade.

"Ah, at last!" I Myself think to Myself, "all alone with Dearest Bud!"

And alone we were and we made the most of a lovely situation! Such tenderness and fulfillment you have never beheld

or heard of! The soft mouth-warming kisses, the gentle touch from those strong hands, the loveliness of those eyes l

ooking deeply into mine! The sweet caresses we exchanged, the secrets we shared....

But....lest Lady "I" be disheartened reading more about my evening of love and lust, I Myself shall spare her and you, Dear Reader, of further narrative of my Knight of Knights or Night of Knights or Knight of Nights!

Be it known to all albeit that there has never been such a beautiful night/knight or such an exhilarating, intoxicating, spectacular, wonderful, amorous night/knight in all of time! Enough with my flaunting of my good fortune.... Oh bring

me fortune, Caesar! (Whoops - my Myself's mind wanders to Sir Lanciator!)

Know ye all that Sir Bud and J & J and Myself did peruse thoughts of remaining in our lovely glade forevermore..

knowing that we could all be wonderfully happy there, BUT we heard the call again: "Cam-e-lot! Cam-e-lot!" and felt

urged to move

on to our destiny! (They did anyway - I just as soon have stayed right in that spring with Bud!)

In the morn, we all prepared for the next adventure on our journey and mounted our studs, er, steeds - Myself once

again between the strong legs of Dear Bud - so much dearer to me now! Ah, I Myself vowed to stop this
meandering for fear of hurting dear Lady 'I" who has thus had none....

The tale of Myself and my three heroes will continue - be not afraid! But first, more from the adventures of....

Twenty-six - Ann


Alas and alack! I am very afraid! The idea of Sir Bud du LAPD riding with Lady Myself between his legs and

taking along J&J? When did Sir Bud stop drinking J&B scotch?It must have been the trumpets bleating loudly

in my ears to cause me such confusion.

Camelot was a riot of color, knights who strangely all looked so nearly alike they could be brothers, and ladies from

all o'er the lands. But for Gladiator/Sir Lanciator, Terry/Sir Tristam and me, your loyal scribe, our eyes could only fasten upon King Jack.

He stood near his throne, a wooden one that bore a lady's bust at it's stern oddly enough, and he was resplendent in

his royal navy blues and whites. His hair was golden and its long tresses were gathered loosely at his neck with a blue ribbon. Upon his head rested, easily, the golden crown of Camelot.

"Darn. I was hoping he'd be swimming," I told Sir Tristam, with whom I rode. He crooked an eyebrow at me in confusion. I blushed. "Well… it's just that… you see I've read some of his own tale… and… it seems he likes to

swim nude behind his ship… and, well, it's just that we've worked hard to get the Holy Quahog for him… and well,

I guess I just thought he'd give us our just rewards."

Sir Tristam shook his head at me. But before he could respond, Sir Lanciator pulled near and took my hand.

"Ah, but Lady Me, you have your reward because what you do in life…" Sir Lanciator began. I sensed a lecture

coming on from my dear Spanish hero.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know, I know, Gladiator. Eternity, schmeternity. I was hoping to get a reward here on earth,"

 I said. "Besides, you're all chipper because you see your earthly reward waiting up there next to King Jack. I see y

ou eyeing Lady `I' so you're not fooling anyone. Just get off your high horse."

He grinned at me in that way he has that always brings out the sun. "By your leave then, Lady Me. "

And he jumped from his horse and rushed toward the stage. Tossing his leather pouch to King Jack with a flourish,

he said, "My liege, the Holy Quahog. May it bestoweth upon you the merits you earn on the seas and on the film;

and may it inspire the Oscar voters not to screweth up again next year."

As a mighty roar went up, we watched as Gladiator swept Lady "I" into his arms and, with another flourish, he bestowed upon her a kiss that would last until eternity.

"Lady Me, you were seeking a reward?" Sir Tristam whispered in my ears. "What say you that we retire to my chambers and let me reward you at length?"

"Now you're talking!" I replied. Of course, by then, neither of us were talking. Except with our… equipment. So to speak. Or not speak. Either way. All I know is that it was hours before we rejoined the festivities.

We were still waiting for Lady Myself and her champions. I also wondered what had become of Sir GalaHando and

his white mesh. But, most importantly of all, what would King Jack have to say to all of us? To tell the next part of our twisted tale is… (Lady "I" where are you? Tis time to wrappeth up this tale you began!)

Twenty-seven- Bert

As we ride off from our beautiful glade, Sir Bud, J & J, and I Myself hear the sound of trumpets in the not-too-distant far! We hasten over the small rise in the way just ahead of us and lo and behold....

There in the valley below is the beautiful Camelot! We hie our trusty steeds onward and downward as we sense the urgency of getting to fair city in a jiffy! My - that is those of Myself - handsome knights - feel a strange calling to arrive

at Camelot before the fall of night! (Personally, I would just as soon have stayed in the glade and the spring, but what

do I Myself know!?!?)

The road is clear and easy and widens as we approach our appointed destination so we make very good time - don't

even have to stop for directions or dragons or any manner of ill or danger! (Aren't I Myself the lucky one??! No

problems with this trip - just love and lust and it's not even May!)

We arrive at the walls to Camelot and they open wide to receive us! Strange how all the Gladiators, er, Knights of

the Crowe Table look oddly familiar and even more oddly, so similar! They greet Sir Bud du LAPD, Sir Jeff of Mitchellton, Sir Jeffrey of Wigand and I Myself with some relief that we have arrived as we exchange greetings

with all the other Knights and such like!

We're taken into the Grand Hall where we see all manner of beautiful adornments and red carpets and golden

statues and a feast is prepared for all! "Must be the Academy Awards Luncheon," I Myself muse.

The handsome - aye, may I Myself say, beautiful King Jack reigns over all and we mix and mingle and partake as

we await the imminent arrival of Lady "I" and her Lanciator....

Twenty-eight - Jo

from 26..."We watched as Gladiator swept Lady "I" into his arms and, with another flourish, he bestowed upon her

a kiss that would last until eternity."

Gosh...do I have to add MORE to the tale....I'd really, really like it if we could stop right here!!! Can we? Huh?

Huh? What could possibly be better than this? Sigh!!! After this I'm supposed to pay attention to what the rest of the

guys are doing? You ask much! I know, I know...you have much to ask. All right... As soon as I figure out what that is...I'll do it...yep, yep, yep....hmmmmm? What ever happened to outlines and careful plotting? I just sit here and see where my fingers move on the keyboard.
*********
Me, Myself, and I were all in the throne room and, admittedly, were paying not ALL that much attention to the proceedings outside our immediate...er...doings. Gladiator had vowed never to remove his arm from around my

waist nor his lips from mine (which made talking rather more difficult); Tristam/Terry and Lady Me were busily

taking equipment inventory; Lady Myself was determined to determine how much Bud WAS wiser... but with one

eyeball each we watched the pouch in King Jack's hands.

Sir Jeffrey sighed deeply and said softly to Sir Jeff, "If this were truly a musical, now would be the time for me to

sing a chorus of 'This Nearly Was Mine.'"

What would happen next? Would King Jack claim the golden quahog for himself? Surely his confronting himself

n the fog storm while wearing wet wool in the hot Mexican sun would be quahogworthy!!! Every lady in the room

was nodding in assent to the thought. Every smart, wise, and good soul in the entire Kingdom was nodding assent to

the thought. But there be dragons and witches and all manner of evil lurking in the land, waiting in dark passes to

snatch quahogs from their true owners. It had happened in the year just gone by...could it, would it happen again?

Just then the double oaken doors swung wide on their huge hinges and banged loudly against the stone walls of the throne room. In strode Sir John of Nashville , famed throughout the land because of his passion for mathematics and country singing. He ripped off his armor, flung it to the floor, and stood before us, resplendent in a glowing white tee-shirt. Brushing chalk dust from his hands, he walked purposefully toward King Jack, looked him in the eye, nodded toward the quahog pouch and asked, "May I?"

King Jack  handed him the  pouch, a tear  welling in his eye as he recalled the terrible crime which had been

perpetrated against this noble knight, robbing him most cruelly of his rightful quahog.

Sir John of Nashville removed the quahog from the pouch and held it aloft that all those assembled might view it in

its golden glory. Slowly the top shell of the quahog opened and beams of light shot out from its interior. Everyone in

the room gasped in awe...that is, everyone but Gladiator and "I" because our lips were still locked. Brushing his forehead with his knuckles and nodding his head a bit, Sir John smiled a wide, closed-lip grin. He turned to where Maturin was softly playing his cello in the corner of the throne room. "Roomie, come over here!" he called.

Maturin stood and as he walked toward John, became slowly transparent, then totally invisible. Again Sir John

smiled his wide grin. "Thanks, Charles, " he said, shaking hands with empty air. Turning to look at the assemblage again, Sir John continued, "Charles is kindly helping me prove a point. NOW!" he shouted in a commanding tone.

In through the open doors crept the large-toothed redhead from the Orient Express. She was wearing the head of t

he Black Knight as a lapel pin and she cupped both hands over it possessively as she walked. Even Gladiator and I momentarily unlocked lips to stare at the sight as she left a trail of green slime in each footprint she made. The closer

to Sir John she got, the more transparent her form became...until she, just as Charles had, was totally invisible. We

all gasped...even Gladiator and I...could it be true? John nodded, still with that fetching grin, "Yes, my fellow knights...and ladies....it is, indeed, true! There IS no eviljulia 6.7!! Just as my subconscious created Charles to be all

that I felt was lacking in myself as a person and to provide me with support, understanding, and comfort....it created eviljulia 6.7 to be all that is self-absorbed and shallow in the world and to provide me with back-stabbing, back-biting, and evil gossip. It was, in fact, she  who Parcher and I discovered  planned on smuggling the bomb across the

Canadian border, disguised as a filling in one of her giant teeth."

Again we all gasped. What would be the repercussions of this revelation? Just then the president of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences crawled out from under the round table and knelt in abject apology at Sir John of Nashville 's feet. Weeping great tears of sorrow on Sir John's tennis shoes, he looked up and in a quivering voice

said, "Oh, good and worthy Sir Knight...since eviljulia 6.7 does not exist and since the Black Knight is but her lapel

pin, on behalf of the Academy I beg you to keep the golden quahog you now rightfully hold in your hand."

The entire assemblage applauded and shouted in great joy of heart. Sir John smiled modestly and said, "I will keep

it, my friends...but only until 2004 when, if justice be served, King Jack will become its rightful owner." Again the

room was filled with claps and shouts...and each of the knights gathered a lady into his arms, kissing her as only

a character knight can do. And Gladiator kissed "I" the best of all....of course!

CONTINUED AS...WHERE NO CHARACTER HAS GONE BEFORE

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