Coming Soon to…

…the paperback version of this e-book…

…all spruced up and just waiting to be leafed through. If you half-way enjoyed The Where House, you’re sure to three-quarters love this. Try this wee snippet…

Darkwood was very impressed with Joan’s verbosity, and recognised that he would have fallen helplessly head-over-heels in love with her if he hadn’t been hamster-sexual, and only really fancied hamsters with squelchy bits that dangled. And as things stood, Rootley appeared to be the only ‘talent’ available currently. Unfortunately he was a mere serf with whom Darkwood would countenance no dalliance under any circumstances.

“You’re looking at me funny.” Rootley observed.

Although caught out, Darkwood quickly recovered. “I’m royalty: I’m allowed to look at people funny.” He snapped. Then added, “You’re local: answer me this: to which location do you suggest we transport ourselves next? Food, shelter, and a safe refuge from an inevitable pursuit by the Lawmen of Weasels Pit would be a prerequisite.”

“Dunno,” replied Rootley, “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Well don’t think too long,” Margarita piped up from the shrubbery, “I can hear horns being blown in the village below.”

The village of Weasels Pit was in uproar. The Lawmen of the village had gathered about The Law Master, and the common folk had all come to watch her form a posse, or possibly conduct one of her nude séances.

Quentin Blackheart stepped forward from jostling ranks, saluted, and shouted, “Posse assembled, Law Master. We are at your command.”

Perfidity eyed her ‘command’ with something resembling distaste. They came from a wide range of rodent species, and frankly appeared to be little more than a rabble: All heavily armed with swords, knives, maces, and crossbows, true; and some even managed to squeeze into chain mail and helmets inherited from the days before Rodent Union; but a rabble they were nonetheless. She was, however, quite impressed that they had all managed to provide their own cavies to ride. She just hoped that their mounts were well trained, and refrained from too much talking when stealth was required, and avoided trying to procreate with each other when their rider’s backs were turned.

“Very good.” She returned her lieutenant’s salute, “Mount up. We ride into destiny. For the Justice of the Wheel!”

“The Wheel!” the lawmen roared in return.

© Paul Trevor Nolan


About Tooty Nolan

Writer of silly tales, taker of pictures, and all round good egg
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