THE UNKNOWN PLOT

By Jo

PART NINE: Tackling the Plot

He narrowed his eyes at her...again. "You realize I'm in the midst of an extremely dreadly

dangerous plot here and you...you give me...cholesterol?"

"No plot, Himself. Can't be dreadly. Look at your cast. What are we doing? A walk in the

park, is it not? A walk in the pa...."

It was then, then when only the first two letters of the four-lettered word beginning with a

'p' had been pronounced that....

"You're repeating," Himself remarked to Joimus, despite the fact she was obviously a muzzle

loader and not a breech loading carbine, "and you're making Civil War references already."

"I had to repeat, Himself," she explained. "August 20th was the date part 8 was posted and

now it's May 5th."

"Cinco de Mayo," Terry said knowingly.

"Remember the Alamo!" Stacey growled.

"Besides," Joimus continued, ignoring the untoward interruptions, "I am being rather generous

at the moment and NOT writing the Civil War just so I can further the plot of this plotless

piece of...."

"Now, now! It's an epi," Essie spoke up. "Language is always blissfully innocuous."

"&%$#@%& !!!" Himself said.

"It's not THAT bad!" Joimus huffed. "I was only going to say this plotless piece of literary, um,

fluff."

"What about what was being said when it was so rudely interrupted by the end of chapter eight?" Ed asked. "Wasn't there something about a walk in the pa...?"

"There was, indeed," Himself nodded. He looked at Joimus. "Why was that being said?"

"How do you expect me to remember as far back as August? Have you no forbearance, no

generosity of spirit, no...."

"You have no idea, do you, what you were writing about?"

"I...um...well....ah...squirrels. I remember squirrels. Vaguely."

"And what do you remember about squirrels?" Himself pursued, like unto a terrier with some

small rodent in its mouth.  He cocked an eyebrow. "Why are you looking at me so, even for

you, strangely?"

"I was just picturing you with a small ro...never mind."

"And who is that practically attached to your elbow, if I might ask?" Himself continued.

Joimus looked to her side. "Him? Oh, that's Jonathon. I never leave home without him anymore.

He goes everywhere I go so I had to bring him along even on Smallman Street."

"He looks a bit...shabby, wouldn't you say?" Sid interjected.

"YOU march forty-eleven miles a day with only a toadstool to eat and seventy million highly

armed Yankees to fight and see if YOU don't begin to look a little shabby, Siddums!" Joimus

was obviously very, very defensive of her great, great grandfather...and worried. Malvern Hill,

Sharpsburg, Gettysburg were no where near as dangerous to life, limb, and lower lumbar

regions as was epilife.

"Couldn't write an epi without him, could you?" Sid taunted. "Can't get your mind off Sophia

Street long enough even to add one poor little feeble epichapter."

Joimus stuck her lower lip way out. "I see no reason to leave him behind. He is always on my

mind. You know that. Obviously you know that since you know about Sophia Street."

"You are presuming again that all epireaders are also All That's Left of Me readers," he

pointed out.

"Well, if they're not, they SHOULD be!" Just to be sure, she made the title a link.

Jack stepped up, wishing to get a word in edgewise. "I understand Atonia was the one who

mentioned epiwriting to you yesterday. Is...this...the unfortunate result of...that?"

Joimus hung her head, almost imperceptibly nodding. "Verily, verily," she whispered. "I felt

somewhat guilty for leaving us all on Smallman Street for a length of time sufficient to gestate

a child."

Maximus' eyes widened. "You are not...are you?"

"When?" she replied, her blue eyes latching yearningly onto his seagreens. "WHEN has there

even been the slightest opportunity for...for...such deeds as would result in that?"

"We could step behind yon stout sycamore, beloved." His lids raised suggestively.

"It's no use, dearest darling beloved," she sighed. "Ever since A Strong Tower epis have been

only utterly frivolous and high caloric.  I fear there may never be another serious plotline

in which you can suffer the great tortures of your experience previous to said time."

He ran a thumb pad down her cheek, a slight smile curving one corner of his lips. "I have

confidence in you, heart of my heart. I know you will somehow, someway, find a means to

make me suffer most hideously."

She felt encouraged by his encouragement, a most encouraging development. "You...you...

think so?"

"I know you. I know so."

Marshall quietly squatted behind a big blue mailbox, his hand muzzling Wadsworth. "Shhh!"

he cautioned.  "It's been some time...for me."

Brennan lifted his chin. "Well, I have never been tortured in epilife, only by Paul Haggis,

and he doesn't even seem to be IN this epi."

"I wouldn't attract attention to myself," the wise, womanly Doree said, though as she spoke

she caressed the stock of her Uzi. Should attention swing her way, she knew what to do.

"You caress that stock, Miss Doree," Brennan said admiringly, "better than any Uzi stock

I have ever seen caressed in all my years teaching community college."

"Would you like to see where the bullets go?" the blonde K-9er purred.

"I confess to a certain lack of expertise in that endeavor," Brennan admitted.

"Do let me...show you."

"What is an Uzi?" Jonathon asked.

"It is something that would have come in handy when it wasn't all that quiet along the Potomac," Joimus explained.

"I am far more anachronistic than your Rebel soldier, Joimus," Jack pointed out, "yet I know

what an Uzi is."

"That is because you have been in epilife for quite some time now, Captain, whereas Jonathon

has only just this moment arrived." She eyed Jack, studying him carefully. "You wouldn't

expose him to measles, would you, or typhoid?"

Jack puffed out his chest. "I assure you, Madam, I carry about my person neither measles

nor typhoid."  He failed to mention the possibility of lice.

"Should you really write an epi chapter," Himself asked, "when your creative juices are so

evidently directed elsewhere?"

The General frowned like a thundercloud. "The direction of her juices are my concern and

mine alone. You will refrain, Sir, from all further reference to them."  His hand hovered

just above the pommel of his shortsword.

Himself narrowed his seagreens as at least that little smidgeon was epi canon. "You cannot

threaten me, General. Without me you would be nothing."

It was true. " He's got a point," Zack pointed out.

"Not so," Jack more pointedly pointed out. "The General is the one with the actual, metallic

point, whereas Himself has merely...."  He paused, studying Himself. "What's different about

you, Himself?"

Himself looked up toward the sky. "I...I was shanghaied. I was wondering when any of you

would notice."

"You mean to say," Sid sneered, "that since we began this perambulation down Smallman

that Chinamen took you captive?"

"I was in Shanghai. How I got there from Smallman Street I do not care to discuss."

A broad smile was spreading across Joimus' face. "SO!" she so-ed. "It was YOU! All along

while I've been accused of marching in endless circles around Culpepper Court House and

not writing epis, it's been YOU! You were in China and you didn't even TELL us!!"

"I was in China. HOW could I tell you?"

"Did you bring tea?" Max asked, growing thirsty from such a long conversation.

"TEA???" Himself roared. "I was nearly backed, horse and all, into a filthy canal and you

speak to me of...of...TEA???"

"You did mention China," Max mumbled. "I only thought...."

"And my TACKLE!!! Have you ANY idea what happened to my TACKLE in China??"

"You went fishing with it in that canal?" Sid offered.

"Let's just say I hit high C for the first time in my life and leave it at that."

"You sang to the fish?"  Arthur was young. How was he to understand such references?

"I don't understand, either," Brennan said. "The only use I know for tackle, being a

Pittsburger 'n all, is on the football field. Do you mean you were in China playing fo...."

"Yes, Himself," Atonia spoke up. "Why WERE you in China?"  She was looking for a new

story idea. Possibly being tackled by fish or football players in China was a workable plot

for her Blaine character. He was, after all, half Chinese.

"Hey," Max hissed in her ear, "you're married to an Englishman. You have to know about

tackle. All Englishmen do. Your question won't wash."

"My question needs...washing?"

"I know about tackle," Beej finally admitted. After all, she was with Terry and Terry

definitely had some.

"Personally," Jeffrey spoke up, "I'd like Himself to answer the question of why he was in

China in the first place."

A sudden expression of absolute horror appeared on Sid's face. If he had had real blood it

would have all drained from his face.  His jaw literally dropped open as he turned, stepping

in front of Himself, his fists clenched. "You...you...you...wouldn't!!!!"

"I did," Himself smiled.

"WHY? Why would you?"

"He interested me," Himself shrugged.

"Who? What's he talking about? What's Sid talking about?" Cal was confused. He didn't

like being confused. It made him...hungry.
 

"Jack Knife."

"What did you say?" Cal was still confused. "You went to China because of a...knife?"

"In a manner of speaking." Himself's smile widened into a grin.

"One can only hope it was Swiss Army," Doree whispered to Brennan.

"You couldn't possibly have gotten goose bumps...could you?" Joimus said quietly, currently

unable to keep track of a burgeoning cast as it was.

"I would have had I gone backwards into the canal."

If Sid had had food in his stomach, he would have puked it up on the spot. Another character!

Himself had gone and made ANOTHER useless character...and all while they were meandering

down Smallman Street.

"He thought the same of me back in Toronto," Jim said quietly.

"And you turned out to be so very far from useless," Marilyn pointed out even though she

was currently swordless.

Sid staggered at the news. "Stacey!" he called out. "I have need of you!"

"I'm here, dearest," the Texan said, handing little Livi to Meggie. "Mama will return."

"And you, what do you think of what I have done?" Himself asked Joimus.

"Jack Knife will be in the box until I see him. I have no opinion."

"Another Jack in the box," Bridgid muttered, "probably folded."

"I have not folded Mr. Knife," Joimus averred. "My heart is in Mississippi at the moment

and I must return anon."

"You didn't write squirrels," Meggie pointed out, continuing the pointing out trend.

She didn't write squirrels. Hercathia narrowed her un-seagreen eyes from her perch inside

the metal flap thingie of the big blue mailbox behind which Marshall still crouched. The

woman preferred minie balls, grapeshot, heatstroke, amputation, did she, over the nobility

of squirrelkind?  Well, whenever chapter ten got itself written, she herself would make SURE

it was filled, margin to margin, with squirrellife!

Joimus just smiled. Billy was heading for Missionary Ridge. Billy was about to...

ON TO PART 10

BACK TO PART 8

BACK TO EPIS REKINDLED INDEX

BACK TO MAIN EPI INDEX

BACK TO LIBRISCROWE