Pitching a little Woo

Scaramanga and Captain Stuart after having picked up on Mr. Woo's sarcasm decided to feed it right back.

"plooobfttllttltlt" they both stuck out their tongues and made the universal raspberry noise.

Mr. Woo not expecting such an obnoxious reaction to his holier-than-thou-aggrieved colonial chastisements decided that the best course of action was to give Scaramanga an ironically cursed magic item. But which one? The lotion that promises younger looking skin but actually turns the user into a hirsute wolf-like creature? Or the ring that promises to turn the wearer invisible but really only makes them social invisible thereby rendering them a involuntary wallflower in any social setting. But wait. The best one for this situation is the scroll of protection from uninsured motorists. That one promised so much but only covered the cost owed on the car and didn't provide car replacement costs. He grinned to himself in a very disconcerting manner that was lost in the rich tapestry that was his general state of weirdness as appraised by Captain Stuart and Scaramanga.

I, The Turnip

Lord Townshend, aka Lord Turnips awoke with a start. He had recently received a nasty blow to the back of the head from a crew member. But Lord Turnips didn't recall that. All he knew was that he was being fed some sort of vile medicine and he spat it out.

"Whut the hell are you mugs doin'? He grunted.

"Turnips, old bean, are you well?" exclaimed Brigadier Rossoroni.

"Who da hell is Turnips? And who da hell are you pal?" Lord Turnips was clearly not himself. He looked around and found himself surrounded by a very James Mason-ish dapper gentleman in a stylishly cut blue wool suite who was trying to feed him medicine of some sort. He seemed to foggily recall the name Rossoroni as he looked on the charming gent but naught much else came to mind. Also in the room was a familiar face that he recalled from his youth. The face was familiar and he seemed to recall a name that was something about a bird. Maybe the name was Hummingbird, or Finch, or perhaps Cormorant.

(Cormorants are native to many areas of the globe.)

Lord Turnips shook his head Wile-E.-Coyote style and gradually came to recall that before him were Brigadier Rossoroni his old friend from the club back in Blighty, and his school associate Lord Woodpecker Smyth, who Turnips recalled owed him quite a few gold sovereigns for a stage production of Annie Get Your Gun.

Brigadier Rossoroni distracted Lord Woodpecker Smythe by asking him to fetch a copy of Catcher in the Rye from his luggage for him and leaned over and whispered to Lord Turnips.

"I don't think we can trust that one. I think dicky old Woody has been compromised. Not sure exactly what gave it away although if you were awake a few minutes ago you would have seen him acting almost exactly as Dennis Hopper in Apocalypse Now which we agreed would be his signal that he had been compromised. I was just about to chalk it up to his overactive imagination but he was so pitch perfect in his delivery. I thought, he's actually not good enough of an actor to pull that off unless he was pretending to be a bad actor pulling off a good performance in order to....er, rather...uh, wait, let me start again. I've lost my train of thought. What I mean to say is that I think he's using his duress signal which was a impersonation of Dennis Hopper."

Lord Turnips agreed "Yeah, I seem to recall that that was his duress signal." He thought for a second. "Your duress signal was doing a spot on impersonation of James Mason in North by Northwest." He thought for another second. "And my duress signal was to do the song I'm a Little Teapot while acting out the roles of teapot handle and spout. I believe at the time I was very, very 'in my cups' and acting very silly." Hmmm...not sure if we need to go to all that bother. You seem to be managing the James Mason portrayal pretty well. So what do you imagine is the trouble with Woody?"

Brigadier Rossoroni leaned in again. "Ohhh...one more thing. What I failed to mention 5 minutes ago, was that the Nautilus has been taken over by Lady Marzipan's thugs and she's sailing us to a rendezvous with the brutal Chinese General who has your son prisoner."

At that Lord Turnips did a spit take like no other spit take.

"wha, wha, wha, WHA?!!!!"

With that his mind became a fury of red hot anger. He slapped his forehead like Curly in the Three Stooges and began spinning around the floor and thrashing. He raced to the passage way where a lone member of Lady Marzipan's personal guard was stationed in the hallway armed only with a CHICOM knockoff of a Makarov automatic. Lord Turnips ran up to the guard and before the burly lad could unholster his weapon, Lord Turnips shouted "OY" and drove his forehead square into the nose of the unsuspecting tough.

Lord Turnips ran up a nearby stair to the next deck and seeing two of Lady Marzipan's guards standing on either side of the portal he grabbed both of their heads and crashed them together which produced a delightfully zany bowling pin sound.

Lord Turnips saw another crew member approaching with a cricket bat apparently thinking that this would cow the normally sedentary agriculturally-obsessed aristocrat. But Lady Marzipan's thug didn't know that Lord Turnips was out of his bean because something had in fact had been knocked loose when he went overboard and that he was absolutely gone spare with rage at the notion that some Chinese General had his son captive. Lord Turnips dodged the thug's first swing, caught the bat wielding arm and proceded to whack the thug's head with his own bat into the wall. Lord Turnips held the thug still for a second and rattled the thug's head between the stationary bat and the wall until Marzipan's tough fell to the ground stupified.

Turnips decided to question Marzipan's man to find out what he could about the current situation on the ship. As he did this in unspeakably violent and decidedly too rough a manner for the audience of this blog, Brigadier Rossoroni and Lord Woodpecker Smyth came up to check out his handiwork. Brigadier Rossoroni, as a military man, could only envy the savagery and cartoonishness of this bizarre head-injury inspired Lord Turnips.

Lord Turnips turned to Brigadier Rossoroni and tried to explain himself:

" Look Rossi, You're tied down by rules and regulations. You've got your precious military code watching over you. I'm alone. I can slap someone in the puss and they can't do a damn thing. No one can kick me out of my job. Maybe there's nobody to put up a huge fuss if I get gunned down, but then I still have a private cop's licence with the privilege to pack a rod, and they're afraid of me. I hate hard, Rossoroni. When I latch on to the one behind this they're going to wish they hadn't started it. Some day, before long, I'm going to have my rod in my mitt and the killer in front of me. I'm going to watch the killer's face. I'm going to plunk one right in his gut, and when he's dying on the floor I may kick his teeth out."

Brigadier Rossoroni cleared his throat. "Rather. I guess I'm not sad to see your a beserk-with-rage-killer at this exact moment. I'm just a little stunned." He motioned for Lord Woodpecker Smyth to join him. "Perhaps we can use this to our advantage. . . . I have a plan"

With that Lord Turnips apraised his recently captured Makarov and cricket bat and said: "I've got something a little better than a plan, I've got the hardware to pull it off."

Nautilus Taken!

Dawn has just broken on the South China Sea. The only thing spoiling the tranquility of the calm tourquoise sea is the smoking ship on the horizon. It is the Nautilus. Along side her is the Nanki-Poo, pirate junk of the notorius Lady Marzipan and her band of nefarious evil-doers.

Below decks there is evidence of intense fighting. Brigadier Rossaroni is being held hostage in the wardroom, tending to the still unconscious Lord Turnips, who was pistol whipped by a traitorous Nautilus crewmember. Lord Woodpecker-Smythe, still ostensibly prisoner of Marzipan, enters the room.

"W-S! What the devil are you doing here? This is duced odd, I didn't expect to be seeing you. What's going on?" exclaimed a visibly shocked Rossaroni.

"I'm here with Marzipan, man," replied Lord Woodpecker. "You wouldn't have any cigarettes, would you? I've been dreaming of them, man."

"Marzipan? Where is she? I need to speak to her," said Rossaroni.

W-S laughed. "Hey, man, you don't talk to Marzipan. You listen to her. The woman's enlarged my mind. She's a poet-warrior in the classic sense. I mean sometimes she'll, uh, well, you'll say hello to her, right? And she'll just walk right by you, and she won't even notice you. And suddenly she'll grab you, and she'll throw you ina corner, and she'll say do you know that if is the middle word in life? If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you, if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you -- I mean I'm no, I can't -- I'm a little person, I'm a little person, she's, she's a great person. I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across floors of silent seas -- I mean --"

"What's happened to you, Woodpecker? You're not making any sense." The Brigadier was getting very worried about his old friend. He was acting very much unlike his old self. "Just take me to Marzipan."

W-S agreed and motioned Rossaroni to follow him from the wardroom, leaving the sleeping Turnips all alone. After climbing a nearby ladder they were soon in the Control Room, now transformed into a charnel house. The fighting had been fiercest here, and there were large numbers of dead Nautilus crew piled in heaps throughout the room.

Woodpecker looked nervously at the Brigadier. "The bodies. You're looking at the bodies. I, uh -- sometimes she goes too far, you know -- she's the first one to admit it!"

"She's gone crazy," said Rossaroni.

W-S bristled. "WRONG! WRONG! If you could have heard the woman, just two days ago, if you could have heard the woman! You're going to call her crazy?"

"Well, she doesn't seem to be here, where did she go?" asked the Brigadier.

"If she's not here, she's probably off with her people. She feels comfortable with her people. She forgets herself with her people. She forgets herself." Rossaroni was starting to think that Woodpecker-Smythe had gone crazy as well. He continued, "But you probably are thinking of how you can kill her, aren't you?"

"Why? Why would a nice guy like you wanna kill a genius? You know that the woman really likes you. She likes you, she really likes you. She's got something in mind for you. The woman is clear in her mind, but her soul is mad . Oh yeah. She's dying, I think. She hates all this, she hates it! But ... the woman's ... uh ... she reads poetry out loud, alright? ... And a voice! A voice..."

"She's got plans for you. Nah, nah, I'm not going to help you, you're going to help her, man. You're going to help her. I mean, what are they going to say, man, when she's gone, huh? Because she dies, when it dies, man, when it dies, she dies. What are they going to say about her? What, are they going to say, she was a kind woman, she was a wise woman, she had plans, she had wisdom? Am I going to be the one, that's going to set them straight? Look at me: WRONG! ... You!"

Brigadier Rossaroni was thoroughly confused now, "Have you been eating the Black Opium? You know your constutution can't handle Riding the Tiger. Don't you remember back in '59 when your boorish behavior single handedly started the Sepoy Mutiny? Come on man, get your head together. At least help me get some medicine to give to Lord Turnips."

"Turnips? Turnips?," muttered W-S. "Yes, yes... we can do that... she has plans for him too, you know..."

One of Our Submarines

Lord Townshend (aka Lord Turnips), the agriculturally-obsessed father of Captain Stuart Townshend (aka Lil' Stuart Turnips) stood on the deck of the Nautilus watching a glistening sunset of rare beauty. He was grateful that he could sit on the deck under natural light and read from the meager library of the Nautilus. Today he was reading an American author of the crime genre. It was not Lord Turnip's normal fare: definitely low-grade writing and second-rate subject matter, but filled with just enough titilation to keep one turning the pages. As he watched the sunset, the Nautilus, captained by the charming Nemo and his crew approached the Luzon Straight from the northeast. Turnips noted that Nemo and Brigadier Rossoroni bore a remarkable likeness. Perhaps a family connection?



Captain Nemo (left) and Brigadier Rossoroni (below)














Turnips recalled the conversation he had with Rossoroni about this matter as he showed the Brigadier the exact functioning of the time portal and they passed through to 1966. Lord Turnips had a very pleasant 2 hour block of training on the correct functioning of the time portal and Lord Turnips handed a facsimile copy of the owners manual to Rossoroni which included a 4 page troubleshooting guide and several FAQ about its use. The quality of the images in the owners manual was first rate as Lord Turnips had hired excellent pre-Raphaelite artists such as Dante Gabriel Rossetti to produce the schematics. (Author note: So there is no confusion, the Nautilus and crew are now in 1966).





(Picture of Lady Turnips commissioned by Lord Turnips done by Dante Gabriel Rossetti)

Turnips also wondered if his son was eating anything since starting his journey to capture the rascal Scaramanga. (Ed note: For further details on why this adventure took Turnips pre-pre-pre-pre tween son to the South China Sea see this link).

Lord Turnips decided to cable his wife, the Lady Turnips on his plans using the Nautilus' VLF radio. The VLF or ELF radio would theoretically be more secure than broadcasting in the clear on a higher frequency system but would take a longer time to send the message. Just as he was framing his message, one of the Nautilus crew ran up to him with a message from the radio room. Turnips could not recall the scruffy ruffian's name. Frankly he was terrified that this sudden movement from a member of the lower social orders was the signal for a mutiny. He'd been terrified of republican and jacobite rebellion ever since the incident at Boxing Day a few years back.

"Message for your lordship". Said the crewman who kept his eyes lowered and did a modest bow as he handed off the note.

"Thank you my good fellow". Lord Turnips tried to be as regal as possible as the lower orders tended to be over-awed by a show of grace.

Turnips opened the note which was apparently from Lady Turnips.

Dearest Husband,

I grow concerned at the quiet around the estate. I note that I do not hear the peals of laughter from our son. Is he off on some sort of adventure? Is he with you on the Nautilus? And what of you? Where are you? Why did you take the time portal with you? I had desired greatly to travel to New York in the year 1981 to witness the smashing 17 shows played by the Clash at Bonds Casino that was the pinnacle of their glittering but all to brief run as the only band that matters.

I worry also about the eating habits of our young lad. As you know the eating process is comprised of the following:

• Ingestion: placing food into the mouth
• Mechanical digestion & chemical digestion: mastication to tear and crush food, and churning of the stomach. Addition of chemicals (acid, bile, enzymes, and water) to break down complex molecules into simple structures
• Absorption: movement of nutrients from the digestive system to the circulatory and lymphatic capillaries through osmosis, active transport, and diffusion
• Egestion: Removal of undigested materials from the digestive tract through defecation

We must take care that the amount of food that he eats and the quality of same should be of sufficient quality that he derives sufficient nutrients to enable him to grow to full maturity.

Also, please return home soon to take care of other needs WRT our marital bed (e.g., the headboard is loose and makes superfluous noises whilst I sleep.)

Deepest love and respect, Lady Turnips.

As Turnips read this note with great interest he failed to note
the note-delivering crew member approach behind him with a truncheon.

WHACK!

At that Lord Turnips fell over the side into the inky black waters off of Orchid Island.

The Albin Counter Gambit

Well, thanks to Mr. Sixguns, my last hopes for a quick and satisfying gin and tonic evaporated in shards of glass as the bottle of Bluejacket disintegrated upon the reaction with the .44 caliber bullets from Mr. Sixguns’ pistol.

Drat, I had rather wanted to try that brand.

At any rate, it was but a few moments later and he was hurrying me from the crumbling casino down Rue St. Pierre, towards the Macau docks where a speedy motorized junk bobbed innocently in the muddy waters of the bay.

“Move it Woody” Sixguns barked and I felt the sinister barrel of his revolvers in the small of my back.

“Very well, you extremely rude person!” I said, back straight and head held high, “for I am an Englishman and I do not take to that sort of cheeky behavior; I strongly suggest a more civilized tone as you might find it works wonders in the encouragement department.”

Sixguns paused, looked skyward, chewed something and then spoke “I don’t’ have time for yer stiff upper lip English baloney, if you look down the street I think you’ll catch a glimpse of one TYPE HORDE Battalion fixin’ to run us down.”

“Great Scot” I cried, “We’ll be awash in innumerable forms and our ears shall be assaulted by off-key chanting and yelling.”

“That’s right Woodburger” Sixguns added

I continued, “Yes, the that battalion has several sub-elements such as the dreaded red tape company, the sneaky devil platoon and the atrocity platoon, not to mention the medium blivet squad.”

Sixguns quickly reassured me, “Yeah, but it’ll take ‘em all a while to get here on account of them there crates of rubber stamps, bugles, whistles, chant booklets, and medium atrocity kits being so heavy and awkward,”

Luckily then, we did make our escape as the Type Horde Battalion and its various companies, platoons and squads descended on the Casino. Soon we were safely aboard the motorized junk, “Nanki-Poo”,(safely being a relative term in this instance).

To my surprise, there was a rather calm and collected Lady Marzipan awaiting my arrival, arms akimbo and eyebrows arched.

She spoke, “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in, my old pal J6G and my erstwhile gambling partner, Woodpecker-Smythe.”

“Oh, hello, my dear Marzipan”, I began brightly, “I am so happy you’re well and looking simply smashing in that Oriental garb (she was now wearing a kimono embroidered with a fanciful scene of egrets, lotus flowers and other Nipponese themes).”

I didn’t get much further when she cut me off and said “Now see W-S, today is your lucky day, I was able to talk the two bishops, of your acquaintance into returning the money by appealing to their religious sensibilities – I merely anointed there pates with this black jack”

She slapped the blackjack in her hand in an ominous fashion.

She continued, “Funny thing about those bishops; they were loaded and I relieved them of their extra dough and now we have enough cash to buy two Q-Devices plus a hideaway in the Sandwich Islands. Of course, what I want to do now is so simple even an epsilon minus, semi-prole simpleton like you could do it with out fouling it up”

Obviously she’d been reading some of the Huxley, I’d suggested several years ago but that comment still hurt.

“Here’s my plan: we are going to sail to the South China see to intercept Nemo’s boat, the Ammonite. Once within wireless range we shall broadcast a distress signal to lure him to us” she added in a diabolically sinuous tone.

“Oh, Nemo will never fall for that – he know’s your voice and after all you killed his parents, set a squadron of ships to sink his boat and checked out numerous books on his library card which you never returned” I stated confidently.

Marzipan was non-plussed as usual and delivered the following devastating line:

“YOU shall broadcast the signal and then Mr. Sixguns and I shall sneak aboard his ship and hijack it!”

“But that’s simply awful and not at all cricket,” I interrupted, “Nemo is my friend and he’s got the Brigadier and Lord Turnips along, and Lord Turnips has that absolutely adorable little pirate son, Capt Stuart – he looks so cute in his pirate hat and little sword!”

“But, you shall, Woodpecker, you shall, because if you do not, I shall have to tell your dear Lady Lyme Weoghe about your own trips to the library to check out books such as ‘Clever Sayings for the Wooing of Ladyfolk’ and the like. I imagine that would be quite embarrassing” she added for extra ill effect.

“You are far to clever for me – the Albin Counter Gambit – I should have recognized it when you suggested the game of baccarat. Very well, I shall do your wicked task, just promise me that you will not hurt my friends,” I begged.

My two tormenters replied in unison, “Of course we won’t hurt your friends, you can trust us!”

Audience Vote

For the next scrap of something to write about I will either:

A. Mr. Woo helps Scaramanga find his courage and Scaramanga realizes that he has to help Captain Stuart Turnips rescue his crew.

B. Lord Turnips gets a cell phone call from Lady Turnips where he explains that Captain Stuart was wearing his life preserver when he left on the Blue Side of American as this whole storyline that took us to Macau began but that we hadn't heard from Captain Stuart Turnips in some time but we think we have a geo/chrono location of Macau in the 1960s and that we are enroute via Captain Nemo's submarine. She's mad that the boy probably has not been able to get a decent meal in Macau in the 1960s because all he eats in his regular timeline is chicken nuggets and he's probably been skipping meals.

C. We learn more about the Ur Gin and its connection/significance to Hong Kong history.

D. Chairman Mao is in fact in Hong Kong at this moment enjoying some hep cat bar where the jazz is free and the women aren't.

Bye Bye Empire, Empire Bye Bye

Captain Stuart Turnips and Scaramanga had just entered the mysterious magick shop approximately 2000 yards from the donnybrook at the Lucky Dragon.* The shopkeeper emerged from behind a curtain and greeted them with great curtesy and deference.

"Mr. Scarmanga so delighted to see you on this day, your reputation precedes you, how may I serve? And is this young companion your son? What a fine young boy!"

Captain Stuart Turnips corrected the shoppie,

"No my name is Turnips, Captain Stuart Townshend. I am a descendant from the Townshend line of England. My father is Lord Townshend whom some call Lord Turnips."







The shopkeeper smiled at the lad.

"Ah so. We have a gentleman in our midsts. The young man is of the aristocracy. How do you come to be with Mr. Scarmanga? Ah, never mind, I'm sure the readers can go back and look that up. What do you need with Woo?"

Scaramanga looked puzzled as he didn't know what woo meant in this context based on his understanding of Cantonese.

"Woo?"

The Shopkeeper laughed.

"Name is Woo. This is Woo's shop of magicks, potions and spells. No finer store exist like it on the entire eastern coast of the great Eurasian world island. Some may say we are finest store in entire world but there is that store in Livonia Mall in Michigan that has that claim right now."

With that the shopkeeper turned to the side and looking down, shook his fist in a silent act of prideful defiance and muttered sotto voce.

"Livonia Mall Cutlery World I shall defeat you!"

His voice raised again.

"So what can Woo do for you? Hold on, ret Woo guess. Engrish gentleman assassin and young Engrish gentleman sea captain are both running into shop and out of breath. You must need to escape from imminent danger from many, many foes. If it was one foe, surely Scarmanga would have shot with amazingly accurate skill with Golden Gun (tm)."

Scaramanga nodded.

"Its something like that."

Mr. Woo (if that was his real name) continued.

"Ah so we can dispense with the magic items designed to kill one opponent. For you are so truely brave and powerful not to run from just any fight. No, Englishmen would never have gotten to where they ruled 25% of the globe if they just picked up and ran from any fight. "

With that Mr. Woo turned and looked at a dusty black and white photo hanging on the wall of the shop. It was of a group of young soldiers taken some 20 or so years before.

"You see Mr. Scaramanga. I was there. I was in British forces on the so-called Gin Drinker's Line when the Japanese attacked in 1941. I know all about British honor. I was there when this city fell with barely a fight because Englishmen were busy buggering little boys half a world away. My unit fought for General Maltby who wasn't given resources to defend this place from the Japanese because Englishmen half a world away were too busy fighting Germans, Italians and Zombies. ..."

With the mention of zombies, Scaramanga and Captain Stuart gave each other a look. Something might not be right with Mr. Woo they thought.

Woo continued...

"So I know it is impossible that the esteem Mr. Scarmanga, world-known assassin could be fleeing from a fight or from his friends."

With that Scaramanga and Captain Stuart began to pick up on Mr. Woo's sarcasm which although laid on pretty thick was also being dispensed from behind a dreadful accent.


*roughly 1820 Meters, 1.13636 Statute Miles, or 0.9874698400863999 Nautical Miles

Sanctuary made

While Scaramanga's henchmen made short work of the platoon of CHICOM soldiers, Captain Stuart and he continued their attempted egress from Kowloon Walled City. Suddenly, Captain Stuart Turnips noticed a sign for a magicks shoppe. After huffing and puffing and running as fast as his little legs could carry him from the melee at the Lucky Dragon, he needed a rest.

"Scary, can we stop for a moment? I'm absolutely spent"

Scaramanga was as blown as a Bengal Lancer's mount as well. His physical conditioning had suffered recently from a sore back which prevented his participating in his regular Royal Air Force calisthenics with his minions. He slowed his trott.

"Sure, I don't hear the shooting anymore. I'm sure we can take a breather."

Captain Stuart wheeled into the store and Scaramanga followed. As he did so he turned to Scaramanga.

"This store looks interesting. If only I had the ability to post pictures tonight this would be a much more interesting post."

Musings

PERSONAL LOG, CAPTAIN NEMO

August 14

Tomorrow we arrive off the Chinese mainland. The Maneuvering Watch will be set at 0400 and the Smallboat party will go topside at 0530. In addition to getting rid of my two "guests," Aquafina will land to take on supplies from the locals. My "guests" are certainly entertaining, in their own way. Lord Turnips, while clearly highly bred and a Person of Quality, is strangely obsessed with the planting, harvesting, and consumption of turnips. Each and every conversation one has with him eventually turns into a discussion about turnips. Their uses, their medicinal properties, their history, great events of the day that were somehow influenced by turnips. And the Brigadier, when sober, is clearly a man of dizzying intellect. He can expound on subjects as diverse as the lost world of Roiurama, the Spanish Inquisition, Icelandic sagas, or even trout slapping. And the fact he can do it while consuming large quantities of Bombay Gin, from the third hour of the morning till midnight, is even more impressive.

As we of the Nautilus would not be welcomed by the local authorities we will arrive in the no-mans land of Kowloon Walled City. We will be outside the reach of the Crown authorities, but vulnerable to the triads. The topside security watch will need to be doubled as a result.

I am still undecided on what part the Nautilus will take in Turnips and Rossaroni's scheme to thwart Marzipan. I'm not even sure I want to thwart her. Although she stole the plans for the Q-device from me, set fire to my lab, killed my parents, and had a squadron of steam frigates almost send Nautilus to the bottom; she was my wife for five years. That has to count for something. My part of the plan is to wait offshore and be prepared to send in my Marines when signalled. I have till then to decide what to do.

And I'm still unsure how they expect to get from the current year to 1966. Perhaps someone else can expound on that...

Rear Guard Action at the Lucky Dragon

As Captain Stuart and his new pal Scaramanga made a desperate sprint toward the gates of Kowloon Walled City fleeing what appeared to be a platoon of the Peoples Liberation Army which had been sent by General Tang to capture Scaramanga, make good on some old gambling debts, and to recover some borrowed books,

Chop-xin, Lin Ye Tan, Fang Chi, Timothy and about a dozen unidentified members of Scaramanga's entourage continued to fight it out with the General's men. Despite the meager weapons employed by Scaramanga's minions, the boys had a lot of spirit and their wildly exaggerated war cries, eat-up-the-scenery strutting and chest thumping, did indeed give the CHICOMs pause. The fight continued sometimes in slow motion, sometimes with dramatic flourishes where bullets flew into crockery spraying into a thousand pieces as doves flew dramatically against incongruous stained glass windows that nobody had noticed at the Lucky Dragon to that point.

Though the street in front of the Lucky Dragon was littered with the bodies of several members of Scaramanga's entourage (none of the ones we've been introduced to in the story so far, a couple of the ones who could be played by any dark-haired extra as a point of fact), several of the CHICOMs fell to the wild blows, and dramatically delivered parrys and thrusts. Frustrated, the CHICOM soldiers fled back across the no-mans land back to Red China after they discovered that Scaramanga was no longer at the Lucky Dragon.

Chop-xin, Lin Ye Tan, Fang Chi, Timothy and perhaps a half dozen unidentified fellows dusted their hands and stood with arms akimbo as they looked on their handiwork.

"HA!" they shouted in unison.

Chop-xin held up the copy borrowed from General Tang's personal collection of Balzac's Human Comedy and pointed at what appeared to be the bloody carcass of the lieutenant in charge of the CHICOM contingient.

"Do you like apples?" he paused for comedic timing and continued

"how do you like these apples Commy?!"

With that the entourage roared with a gale of self-important laughter the likes of which are only seen after one has written what they think is a funny (although more likely dubious) blog entry.

The entouraged surveyed the damage to the Lucky Dragon. The front glass window was shattered. Several tables were shattered. The buffet of food was strewn everywhere and the kitchen staff broke out mops and brooms and began picking up the pieces. Heung Wah-yim slowly emerged from under a collapsed table and Lin Ye Tan decided that he might as well ask him for the object of their quest that brought them to Kowloon Walled City. He cleared his throat "do you still have that copy of Lady Windemere's Fan?"

On the Road to Macau

The Brigadier was relaxed. Very relaxed. Six gins and tonics relaxed. His location: on the observation deck of the Nautilus, as it steamed across the Pacific towards China. And destiny.

The Pacific was, uncharacteristically, conforming to its name today, and the calm seas and fair weather had enticed Captain Nemo to run on the surface. Rossaroni, and his erstwhile companion and particular friend, Lord Turnips, had spent the day making good use of the ship's Steward, Rodrigo, making him fetch drinks, applying tanning butter, and adjusting umbrellas to keep the equitorial sun at bay.

"Rodrigo, another G&T, por favor," said Rossaroni as he waved number six in the air. When Rodrigo wasn't fast enough in responding, the Brigadier made a loud sucking sound through his straw. "Garcon! Pronto! Pronto!"

A harried Rodrigo finally appeared, "Si senor. Right away, senor." He took number six and scurried away.

Just then Lord Turnips, dressed is his swimming gown, appeared from the hatch that Rodrigo just went down. "I say, old boy, it looks like you've got the poor boy all in a lather." The Brigadier smiled, "I supposed he's not all bad, as far as dagos go, that is. Well, tell me what you've been up to since I've been sunning myself up here?" Turnips sat down on the adjacent chaise lounge, "Well, I just finished taking a steam in Nemo's Turkish bath. Excellent for the pores, you know. Anyway, I saw the Captain coming down the corrider and he asked me to tell you that we'll be submerging tonight as we enter the South China Sea, and you'll have to leave the deck in an hour so the crew can prepare."

"Well, it's the least I can do for the good Captain, as he was so nice to pick us up in the Sandwich Islands," responded Rossaroni as he took number seven from Rodrigo. "But I'm afraid the difficult part of the journey is just about to begin. The Temporal Confluence Detector is clearly pointing at the Hong Kong-Macau area as Marzipan's location, and it hasn't varied since we left the Sandwiches. But what we've got to figure out is WHY she's there." Turnips pursed his lips, "If she hasn't left the area, It's clearly because she is either looking for something or trying to accomplish something there and hasn't finished yet. And as she's driven by her pathological desire to obtain the Ur-Gin, I'd say that, whatever she's doing there, we'd better stop her."

"Capital reasoning, old chum," said the Brigadier as he made more slurping noises with number seven.

A Very Narrow Escape

After ignoring the horrible message of warning from the old krone on the corner of 绝望 (Despair Street) and 繁體中文版 (Fishhead Street). Captain Stuart Turnips and his new pal Scaramanga lighted out for the Lucky Dragon casino, saloon, and lair of Heung Wah-yim, the leader of the Sun Yee On triad.



Scaramanga's select group of henchmen trailed behind led by the few individuals named in Chapter 5 of the Captain Stuart/Scaramanga backstory: Chop-xin, Lin Ye Tan, Fang Chi, and Timothy. There were others of course but Captain Stuart didn't have time to memorize them. All he knew was that he was being safely escorted through the dank, sunless streets of Kowloon Walled City toward a rendezvous with some nice people that Scaramanga thought might have some work for him. Scaramanga suggested that they might be able to get something strong to drink. Captain Stuart imagined that this might be some "fizzy stuff" that his super cool father had once given him unbeknownst to Lady Turnips while Lord Turnips was watching the youngster during one of Mother's Summer trips to the Greyhawk baths.

The entourage armed with bill hooks, halberds, nunchukus and assorted other swords and blades appeared incredibly formidable except anyone who giving the assorted arsenal closer inspection would immediately notice that these were stage weapons and largely made of light woods and having rubber blades. Scaramanga began to calculate in his mind the danger he might be in if things went south at the Lucky Dragon. He mused to himself that he was armed with his trusty golden gun (tm). He was painfully aware in his calculations that it would only provide him with only one incredibly accurate shot per minute. So, while he could likely find the precise location of greatest vulnerability and deliver a killing shot on a Wyvvern or Stone Giant, or one of the lesser Lovecraftian demi-gods, he'd be in trouble with a capital T if he encountered a mass foe, such as an army of ghouls, or a mass of martial artists, or heaven forfend . . . an army of ghoul martial artists. In most eventualities, he'd have to trust that his art-obsessed entourage would be able to bluff their way through. Although the eventuality of an army of ghouls would have greater consequences beyond his ability to calculate exactly at that moment. Just as he was doing these mental gymnastics his entourage arrived at the Lucky Dragon.







(They have a nice new sign)

As they entered the Lucky Dragon, the door slammed shut behind Scaramanga and Captain Stuart and around 10 of the members of the entourage who had managed to squeeze into the rather smallish establishment, which was not a casino at all but rather some sort of smorgasbord type cafeteria. The remaining indeterminate number of Scaramanga's entourage were forced to stare in the glass windows as they waited for some space to open up inside. Scaramanga and Captain Stuart apprised the board of fare. The food seemed to be competitively priced, although heavily weighted toward starchy rice, some gristley batter-coated chicken or perhaps pork and some rather dodgy looking beans and broccoli in a sort of brownish sauce. Captain Stuart asked the lady for some "fizzy stuff" to drink and he was handed a red can that was room temperature at best. Scaramanga, glanced at the can in Captain Stuart's hands and asked if he'd ever drank Coca Cola before.

Scaramanga decided to ask after Heung Wah-yim to see if he needed any "wet" work done. Bounding out from the kitchen came a rotund Asian man wearing a rather worn plaid short sleeve shirt, chinos and wearing a white apron stained with the previously noted brownish sauce. Scaramanga noticed (and devotees who read his advice column will note how important this is) that his old client's shoes were cracked and the laces were frayed: not the way to convey confidence and success at all.

"Hello, hello, Engrish Gentlemens, How can Heung Wah-yim help you today? Have you try Fried Duck with plum sauce?" Scaramanga noticed at once that his old client had fallen on rather hard times. "Heung Wah-yim you old scoundrel, how the devil are you?" Heung Wah-yim greeted Scaramanga with a scowl. "You should not come to Kowloon Scaramanga! General Tang's men are searching the street for you. He say you owe him a first edition copy of Balzac's Human Comedy and you no pay off bet on Grand National rast year." He had no sooner stopped talking when the sound of a scuffle in the street could be heard and several bursts from the distinctive Type 50 submachine gun carried by the People's Liberation Army soldiers.

(This is Balzac)



(The CHICOM soldiers looked like this, except NOT smiling)





Scaramanga knew at once that he needed to make a beeline from the Lucky Dragon because as already mentioned, his golden gun (tm) was no match for a platoon of CHICOM soldiers armed with burpguns. General Tang's men shot up the window of the Lucky Dragon and burst through in dramatic fashion. Some of them armed with rifles and bayonets lunged toward the members of Scaramanga's entourage and a fight ensued in which the close spaces of the tightly compacted restaurant provided very little space for the halberds and bill hooks but also negated the advantage of the bayonets and made firing weapons very dangerous. In these tight spaces it was enormously lucky that Captain Stuart was able to read his copy of the book on Ka-rate that he borrowed from the lending library last year. He delivered several precision knockout blows to CHICOM soldiers and fought his way through the melee to Scaramanga who was just slipping through a bathroom window into the night air. Scaramanga shouted to Captain Stuart "hurry, we have to get back to the Casino Lisbao as soon as possible. We have to find Johnny Sixguns before it's too late!!!"

Captain Stuart tucked the red can in his pocket and began running after Scaramanga as the sounds of melee faded behind them.

Well, everything was simply going to pot.

The money was gone and Lady Marzipan would surely become even more cross if she should fail to apprehend the two rotund clerics. Scaramanga and the boy pirate, Stuart, had disappeared at the head of pajama’d legion to locate a confederate in the Kowloon Walled City – a Hung Ya Kim Song Bong something or another. (At least some were carrying bill hooks, an excellent weapon even though it reduces ones initiative due to its relative unwieldiness.) Further feeding a growing sense of panic in Woodpecker-Smythe, neither the Brigadier nor Commodore Thornton Pickle were anywhere to be seen. All of this paled, however, to the thought of Lady Lyme Weoghe who would be in no mood to hear about powdered sugar got all over his finest purple waistcoat (a Boxing Day gift). Woodpecker-Smythe shivered.

This was a stickey wicket. Stuck in time, by himself with only 6 pounds 50.

Yes, Woodpecker-Smythe was utterly alone, save the remaining 850 patrons at the Casino Lisboa, many of which included some very attractive Oriental ladies serving bottomless gin and tonics.

Where was an old crone with good advice when you needed one?

As he launched into yet another disgraceful round of self-pitying conversation with the cocktail hostess, a barely perceptible vertical crack appeared in the middle of the lovely Wudan Mountain mural behind the bar at the Casino.

It did not remain barely perceptible for long as a plaster, velvet, jade and red tassels exploded as a police type call box blew through the wall barely missing the enormous ornamental fish tank.

Amid the settling dust and loosed white doves, the police box opened and out strode Johnny Sixguns, his gila monster boots crunching plaster with each step.

He leveled his pistol at Woodpecker-Smythe.

“Listen up, yer comin’ with me – little issue of two dead bishops in the Kowloon Walled City” he noted calmly.

“Of course, of course” stammered Woodpecker-Smythe.

Sixguns surveyed the chaos and added, “Shut up Smythe, we gotta pick up Lady Marzipan; seems she had straighten out some accounting issues and things got a little messy.”

“Is it ok if I take this last unbroken bottle of Sapphire Gin and Tonic along? You know, for laters?” Woodpecker-Smythe asked hopefully.

“No” Sixguns replied as he blew the last bottle to smithereens, “I hate gin.”