All Hail the Glorious People's Revolution!

The Brigadier stood at his entryway and watched Prince Otto’s carriage depart. The crisp early morning temperature had frosted the estate’s luxurious green sward, but the Brigadier betrayed no sign of discomfiture, or any sign of emotion whatsoever. As the Prince’s carriage rounded the bend, past rows of Italian poplar trees and prize winning hedges, Lord Townshead emerged from a nearby side hatch. The Brigadier began to grin.

“Why the happy face, Ambrose?” asked his turnip enthusiast friend, “and why on earth did you let that miscreant go? I would have run him through, or at least press ganged him onto my son’s pirate ship.” “It’s all part of a clever ruse, dear friend,” intoned the Brigadier. “Come inside, and I’ll explain it all over breakfast.”

And explain he did. As the Brigadier knew that no amount of torture could persuade Prince Otto to divulge the whereabouts of Lady Marzipan and her accursed Q-Device, the most logical course was to devise a way to make the she-devil come to him. Lord Townshead, after swallowing a bite of the delicious Monte Cristo being served for breakfast, said “But what about Otto? Won’t he and, by extension, Lady Marzipan, now know the whereabouts of the Ur-Gin?”

The Brigadier smiled confidently and tossed a small bit of his delicious Monte Cristo to his pet Corgi, Cerberus. “Oh, the Ur-Gin is quite safe here, old friend. My Pan-Dimensional Force Shield (PDFS) is quite unassailable and can only be deactivated by my own touch. But this also presents a problem. While my hands are needed to deactivate the field, they don’t necessarily have to be attached to my body to do it. So I must be proactive, and draw Marzipan to a place of my own choosing. And this I have done, I believe. Come into my study and I will show you.”

Upon entering the study, dominated of course by the magnificent armoire containing the Ur-Gin, the Brigadier explained his Ruse. “You see, as I ‘gloated’ in front of Prince Otto, I explained to him the story of the creation of the Ur-Gin in ancient Xanadu and how Chinese philosopher and strategist Sun Tzu led an expedition into the heart of Central Asia to recover the alcoholic talisman.”

Lord Townshead’s eyes lit up. “I see, I see. You gave Otto a point in time and geographical location that an unprotected Ur-Gin could be found. Marzipan will be drawn to it like a magnet!” “Precisely,” responded the Brigadier. “And I have conveniently arranged for an Asiatic Horde to be waiting for her when she arrives in 7th century BC China."

Townshead smilles, "You sly dog. You've done it again!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Lord Woodpecker-Smythe had a problem. He was sitting comfortably, and unfettered, on a sofa in a living room in Eastern Michigan sipping a Gin and Tonic and watching something called TV. But he was still a prisoner. Oh yes, he could come and go as he pleased, as long as he took his shoes off after entering the house, but he could not escape. He could not escape back to his own time. Marzipan has imprisoned him in the year 2008. She was a pleasant enough jailer, to be sure, if one forgave her quick temper and homicidal nature, but she was his jailer nonetheless.

On this particular evening Smythe was watching something called “Starship Troopers” on the “TV.” It was a fascinating story about how a group of fantastically good looking people saved the planet from some giant bugs. It was a story worthy of the Bard.

A loud buzzing sound started coming from Marzipan’s study, where she was engaged in something called “The Internet.” It was the blasted Q-Device with another message from one of her minions, no doubt. W-S soon heard gleeful chortling coming from the room. “I’ve got him! I’ve got him! Oh, well done Otto. You shall serve at my right hand.” Lady Marzipan came into the living room. “Put your shoes on professor, we’re going on a trip! Come on, chop, chop.” “And just where are we going this time,” quizzed W-S. “China, circa 7th century BC. I’ve got a date with Sun Tzu.”

“But I so detest the Chinaman’s cuisine, my dear,” started Woodpecker-Smythe. Marzipan didn’t care. “Shut up. I’ll need your considerable language skills to make my way amongst these barbarians.” Lady Marzipan began manipulating the Q-Device.

As the room began to spin, and the familiar blackness started to overtake him, Woodpecker-Smythe could have sworn he heard “Oh crap, forgot to carry the 9. 1966? We’re so screwed…”