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!”

I am Rolled Through a Pasta Machine

I remained shackled to the “recliner” in Lady M’s living room for the better part of the afternoon, a small “tee-vee tray” parked in front of me. I was forced to nourish myself with only a Morey Amsterdam sandwich, cheese tray, chocolate cake, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, a vegetable plate and tea for lunch. (See photo - notice how thin I have become!)

Presently, I was distracted from my repast by the arrival of Mr. Johnny Sixguns or “J6G” as he had most recently begun referring to himself. Johnny Sixguns was in his usual disagreeable mood but was caught up in some type of self-examination which consumed his entire attention.

“Sixguns .. Sixguns .. Johnny SIXGUNS” Lady M repeated, “I need you in the kitchen, I think I’ve tracked down the spatial-temporal coordinates of the Ur-Gin in China … Oh good grief, is that a bacon necklace you’re wearing?”

I groaned, as I am not a fan of the food of the chinaman; and bacon, though delicious, gives me wind.

Sixguns interrupted, “Isn’t the Arabic word for ‘lamb’ the same as the Persian word for ‘lamb”

Of course, the Persian (pronounced “Per-zee-an) vocabulary is quite different from Arabic even though both are spoken widely in jolly old arab land. Additionally, Persian is spoken with a refined British accent where as Arabic is not. (Having taken A levels in classical history at Cambridge, I was aware of this critical piece of knowledge that neither of these two Yankees could hope to know.)

Lady M responded derisively as only she could “How in Hades should I know? Now, I need you to pay close attention.”

By now Mr. Sixguns had returned to his previous activity and announced that he had ‘a bat in the cave’ - whatever that meant. I strongly suspected it was another one of Sixgun’s foul habits.

Indeed, I was about to find out as Sixguns strode out of the kitchen and began menacing me with the product of his industry, the proverbial “bat” from the “cave.”

“Heh, heh” chortled Sixguns, threatening me with his filthy index finger, “How ‘bout I stick this one on you, Woodpecker-Snot!”

“First of all my name is not “Snot” its Woodpecker- SMYTHE and I’m certain Lady Marzipan will not let you get away with this!” I announced loudly, hoping to draw my host’s attention.

Again, I cried out for help, “Lady Marzipan, help, this rogue is about to besmirch my fine traveling jacket with some nasty bit of goo.”

As luck would have it Sixguns tripped over a rather large cable between the kitchen and my recliner. As he did so I heard a familiar sound, the spinning down of a pot lid as the power to the Q-Device was interrupted in mid-stream.

The scene of the living room oscillated in and out of focus about me. I felt the familiar queasiness as if my body was being extruded through a high quality Italian pasta maker.

I knew it was a bad idea to connect the Q-Device to that flimsy extension cord!