The tenth extract means we’re back at the fifth book in the Hamster-Sapiens series of rude tales and daring rodentia. This book, to be exact…
…which is not only wonderful, but stupendous too. Or is that ‘not only wonky, but stupid too’? Whatever – it’s worth a look. Here’s the excerpt…
Blubbersday, the Forty-sixth of Plinth. It was agreed between them that the group of rodents should split into three groups, and go in search of Tybrow Mooney. The obvious place to start was his former inn that had recently been taken over by a group of wandering bank voles who hoped to turn it into some form of perverse theme park. It was patently obvious that if they all arrived together, the voles would instantly draw the obvious conclusion that a mob had been sent to trap and kill them, and quite possibly react badly to this perceived threat.
Being used to bossing subordinates about, Tits took it upon herself to organise the formation of the three search parties. She’d already stressed the importance of leaving no group without the protection of a psychic energy detection system.
“We must have a psychic in each group. Big fists and scary protuberances are all well and good; but when the attack is of the mental kind, we need a psychic ace in our hole.”
“Ah, what hole would that be?” Colin inquired, “Because if it’s a bum-hole I’m afraid I don’t have one.”
“It’s just a term.” Fanangy explained to her android chum. “There is no hole. Or an ace either for that matter.”
“Could I be forgiven for thinking that the former sergeant is talking a load of bollocks then?” Colin inquired further.
Tits recalled a time, many yonks in the past, when she had taken a side arm from her holster, and threatened to shoot Colin up his non-existent bum hole. He had acquiesced to her demands that time: She saw no reason why he shouldn’t again. So she reminded him of this, and fingered her rifle menacingly as she said, “Colin – if you have nothing constructive to say – just shut the fluff up.”
Colin gave a cheerful wave, and took a backward step. “Certainly, Sergeant.” He replied in his infinitely polite way, “Until I have something of pertinence to elucidate, my lips shall remain hermetically sealed. Not literally of course, but you get my meaning.”
Satisfied that she wouldn’t be interrupted again, Tits then chose the teams.
“Colin – you belong to Boney, so you go with him. Boney needs to ride on Gargantua, so that’s him taken care of. For psychic protection team ‘A’ gets Primrose. Team ‘B’ will consist of two couples – for the obvious reason that Felicity’s psychic powers are exactly nil when Roosevelt isn’t around. Fanangy and Lionel will accompany them because of their vast experience doing really weird shit. Adjusterming can bring some wisdom of age to this group.”
“So that leaves you, the vile Arthur Dung, dippy Brenda, and Brother Alfonso Club-cock, with Joan as your psychic protector.” Primrose stated the blindingly obvious. “Couldn’t we just drop Brenda and Arthur off at an inn, and go about our business without their hindrance?”
“Oi,” Dung bellowed, “I wasn’t no hindrance when you needed someone to push all that ice cream up hill. I aint gonna be one now!”
“Golly – me too.” Brenda yelped in support of Dung, “Hey you’s might be needin’ someone with a furry tail kinda thing. Ya never know when a furry tail’s gonna be real useful.”
It was a good argument eloquently put, and no one was able to satisfactorily refute it.
Primrose sighed. “Very well, you two are on team ‘C’. Good luck, Tits.”
To avoid attention from the townsfolk of Far Kinell, the three teams entered independently of each other. Tits had decided to disguise her rifle in a large sack that they’d found wrapped around a signpost, which had almost certainly been deliberately placed there by anti-social urchins to confound and confuse weary travellers.
“Little bastards.” Dung had complained at the time. “Not just a modern phenomenon then? You get’ em everywhere.”
But by now the former rifle-hamster had led Joan, Brother Alfonso, Brenda, and Dung towards a likely-looking hostelry where they hoped to ask questions about any new hamsters in town who resembled Tybrow Mooney.
The bar keeper – a long-snouted wood mouse by the name of Kendrick Tweezledown – spotted them as they entered the busy establishment, and beckoned them to the bar with a welcoming smile, and a hearty hail.
“Ah-ha, a weary group if ever I saw one.” He roared with laughter immediately after speaking the words, “Is it rough ale and foul pasties that you’re after?”
Tits didn’t realise quite how hungry she was until that moment. Now she wouldn’t turn up her nose to anything – even if it was only vaguely edible and closely resembled a turd.
“Thank you,” she curtsied, and added, “That would be lovely.”
“Well you’ll get nothing of the kind here.” Kendrick bellowed good-naturedly. “We only serve really tasty stuff. How’d you fancy a big bowl of rice pudding?”
This question was answered when five sets of gums began to salivate freely.
“And a big cup of tea too, I’d wager.” Kendrick added. “Or maybe something a little stronger? I have a fresh cask of rhubarb wine out the back. Would you care to partake?”
Joan looked to Brother Alfonso. “Do we have sufficient Prannick Spladlids to pay for it?”
Alfonso gave a brief smile. “I wear the cloth of the Church of The Wheel. He knows that the abbey is good for the bill. Let us eat, drink, and – perhaps for a few moments – be merry.”
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2013
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