AN extract from the third adventure of Fairy Hanny

Bobby and his Chariot, 2.

Meanwhile, back in the sort of Lorded Lands of Turenn and his Fiefdom.

“You need to get Bobby and his Chariot as fast as you can!” declared a somewhat concerned Hanny.

“He’s already the fastest charioteer. How can we get him any faster?” asked Father Nick.

“Are you referring to that sibilant sprinting snake soldier?” asked Eoghan.

Nobody was sure where to find Bobby, or his Chariot.

“Surely a Chariot would stand out like a sore thumb!” shouted Turenn.

“I got a hangnail on my thumb which made it very sore. But it didn’t stand out much. It was just a little red and a bit yellow with puss,” stated Dennis.

“Don’t start talking about your pussy fingers!” laughed Bryan.

“Your head will be standing out soon; out on a steak by the front door!” shouted Eoghan.

“Why would you put his head on a steak?” asked Tom. “Is it some sort of local delicacy. Do they sell steak and head down at the local pub?”

“You can get head at the local,” smiled Bryan.

“I meant stake not steak,” explained Eoghan. “You know, like put it on a pike!”

“Now you’re suggesting Fish and Head as a meal?” enquired Mad Tom.

“Fish heads make a great meal,” said the Scribe as he wrote down his own comment.

“Prawns are nice too,” added Tom. “Especially when fried in garlic butter!”

“For Fecks Sake!” shouted Hanny. “We need to find Bobby the Charioteer, and all you lot can do is talk about food! Did I not explain that this Bobby is some sort of trap by Lugh?”

Hanny had recounted the meeting with Lugh, recalling his statement that the clues were obvious and that Bobby was some sort of deception. Turenn and his Sons listened carefully though showed no signs of comprehension. Ksteve merely nodded his head in order to indicate he was still a character in the tale.

“What exactly is a horse of many colours?” asked Turenn.

“To be frank, I’m not quite sure,” said Tom.

“I thought you were called Tom,” stated Eoghan.

“I am!”

“So why do you want to be Frank?” asked Dennis.

“Yes; why Franc?” asked Eoghan.

“When I say, ‘I want to be frank’, it means I am going to give a short, honest answer,” explained Tom.

Dennis and Eoghan considered this.

“Well the local Butcher is called Frank, and he is as honest as the day is long, so you are probably right,” mused Dennis.

“And my Proctologist is also called Frank, and he is also very honest with me,” added Turenn.

“I wish I was called Frank,” said Ksteve, “though I have no doubt my father would have named me Kfrank.”

Bryan laughed.

“Though Frank of the Cross is a lying, thieving git!”

Hanny was increasingly irritated by this aimless banter. She wanted to get on with the quest and complete the tasks, so she could finish with this gang of dunderheads, and get back to Setebos. Oh, for a nice cup of Earl Grey tea and a packet of custard creams! No; she would have to continue like she did with the anally challenged Pixy and the crazy Witch Iz.

“So what exactly is a horse of many colours?” repeated Turenn.

Mad Tom felt it was some sort of optical illusion, where the position of the observer and the nature of the light, could suggest the horse looked a different colour. In some shades of sunlight a Roan could easily be confused with a Palomino or a Bay. At night a dark Gray could be conceived as Black. And really there were at least forty shades of Bay.

Or maybe it just meant it was something different and unexpected.

“So the horse could be something different? Like a cow?” asked Dennis.

“Or a chicken?”

“Could a chicken pull a Chariot?”

“I’m sure it could if it was very small!”

“Chickens are very small. I’ve never seen a tall chicken. Has anyone else?”

“Imagine a chicken six foot tall!”

“That would be very scary!”

“It could peck your eyes out!”

“And chicken feed would cost a lot!”

“Would it still be chicken feed to a Narcissist?”

“For Feckity Fecks Sake!” shouted Hanny again. “It means a different issue and of a different significance! So Lugh doesn’t really want a Chariot with two horses, he is asking for something completely different!”

“Maybe he wants a cat, or a mouse, or a banjo string!”

“Why would he ask for a banjo string?”

“So he can play his banjo!”

“I did not know that Lugh played the banjo!”

“He doesn’t!”

So why would he want a banjo string?”

“I was just offering that as an example of something completely different!”

“A warthog is also very different to a horse.”

“It’s not completely different though, as it is still a four-legged mammal and could be trained to pull a small chariot,” explained Turenn.

“Would it terrify the enemy to see small chariots pulled into battle by warthogs? I think not,” suggested Bryan. “Imagine the laughter of the opposing battle commanders! They would be searching desperately through their Battle Books on how to deal with miniature Chariots!”

They all paused and looked to Bryan, who had taken the conversation off onto a wonderful tangent. Fortunately Eoghan was still present.

“Maybe he really wants a six-foot sneak!” laughed Eoghan. “As long as no-one hits it with a rake!”

“A sneak?”

“Yeas, one of those things that slither and speak with forked tongues,” explained Eoghan.

“You mean a snake!”

“I said sneak. It’s my language affliction and the fact that the Scribe is writing things down literally as I speak.”!”

“I suppose we could pronounce sneak like steak,” mused Tom.

“Snake, Sneak, Stake or steak!” laughed Eoghan.

Hanny stood up, clapped her hands, and brought them back to the real issue. A horse of many colours could be some kind of multi-coloured horse like a Piebald, a Tobiano or a Skewbald.

“Or it could be read, white and blew, like in the circus!” said Eoghan.

“Is Skewbald like when you only go bald on one side of your head?” asked Ksteve.

A quandary, indeed.

“What type of horse is a quandary?”

“It has to be some sort of horse, otherwise why ask for a Chariot?” suggested Turenn.

“Maybe he just wants Bobby and his Chariot; that would be a horse of a different colour!”

“But you said Lugh sent Bobby here! Why ask for him when he already had him?” questioned Dennis.

“Perhaps he wants Booby and his Chariot and a big piece of Coal!” suggested Eoghan.

The Scribe was struggling to keep up with these arguments and counter statements. He had to hold back his own contributions to the dialogue, as he found it difficult to write and speak at the same time. Simultaneous was not in his vocabulary, though somehow he knew that.

“Anyway, he also wants a hoarse horse. Let’s get him a real horse, a hoarse horse, Bobby and his Chariot,” said Dennis.

“None of that sounds particularly Magical,” said Bryan.

They looked to each other.

They looked at the ceiling.

They fumbled in pockets as though manipulating travel gravel.

The lads stole a surreptitious look at Hanny’s heaving breasts.

“Feck it! Let’s just send him Bobby and his Chariot with a couple of old nags. If we’re wrong he’ll have our heads and we won’t have to be arsed completing anymore stupid tasks,” said a stern Dennis.

“I nominate Eoghan and Mad Tom as the old nags,” laughed Bryan.

Published by Phoenix

I have been a teacher all my life. That doesn't just mean in School! I taught my brothers to ride bikes and go camping in the mountains. I taught Football, Cricket, Squash, Sailing, Climbing and Karate. In BNI I became the Education Coordinator. With my Property Business I laid on Investment Seminars. I taught my sons to Fish for Carp. And I still teach Maths and Physics to students who want to go to University to study Medicine or Engineering. Now I am teaching people the things I am learning online.

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