'Ello luv, 'ow's the leg?

Rossaroni was tired. His hand hurt and he needed a break. He stretched his arms over his head and looked around the room. The furnishings weren't exactly what the Admiral would call first rate, with a simple bed, a few chairs, and the writing desk he was sitting at, but he needed a room in town, and the Hydra's Lair was as good as any other place. It would have taken several hours each way to make the round trip to the Keepe and back. And the Planetary Sovereign was in the yard getting an incredibly expensive refit-slash-upgrade. Plus, Schlamazel the Butcher owed him for all the extra sacking he did on the way to Toronaga's. And back. And a little more a few weeks later.

The Admiral was in town at the behest of the Crown to pen a treaty with some filthy barbarian principality that the governement wanted to exploit and usurp. He was just getting to the good bit, where the government reserved the right to come to the aid of endangered commercial interests in the principality. He wondered just how long it would take after ratification of the treaty before an "incident" occured, or was manufactured. But the wording had to be just right, and he was a bit fagged right now, and needed some refreshment.

He headed out of his room and down the stairs into the tavern. As he walked gingerly down the stairs, gingerly because his trick knee was acting up again, he noticed that, as there were no ships in port right now, it was filled with only the regualrs, and therefore not very rowdy.

"'Ello luv, 'ow's the leg?" purred Edith the barmaid ("Purred?!" Belay that! I mean cackled, for she was far from comely.)

The Admiral sat at the bar. "It's acting up a bit today, Edith. A pint of bitter, please. And some Edam"

"Coming right up, your grace," she said as she finished cleaning the glass in her hand (and by cleaning, I mean she was working out a piece of grime by spitting on it). "You know, you ought to get that gammy leg looked at, before you end up wiv' one of them peg legs. Ha, ha. A proper pirate you'd be then, wouldn't you?"

Hmm, that hit a little too close to home.

"You know, some doctoring is just what I had in mind. As a matter of fact, that's why I stopped by Lady Marzipan's estate today. You see, I am well aware of the appalling state of medical care and technology in this day and age, and have no desire to have some drunken lout who calls himself a surgeon, but is actually no better than some ancient barber, hack away at my body parts. So I've hatched a plan to travel to the future to get better medical care."

Edith put the brew in front of the Admiral. "Oh, that's a good 'un, Mr. Admiral. Hoo, hoo, you can sure spin a tale, says I."

Rossaroni continued, "So I get to Marzipan's place and get straight to the point, for she doesn't put up with dilly-dallying. I asked if I could borrow her Q Device and go to the future to get my leg looked at. So, long story short, she agrees (after some haggling and certain concessions on my part) and says if I come back tomorrow, she will send me to the 21st century to a first rate sawbones."

Edith opened her mouth as if trying to form some coherent statement, as unlikely as a coherent statement from her might be.

"I know what you're thinking," the Admiral said, "why the 21st century? Why not the 22nd century, or the 30th, or 10,000th? Well, Marzipan got quite serious at this point, looked me straight in the eyes with that deadly intensity that only she can muster, and said 'If you want to use the Q Device you will never ask me about the 22nd century again. Never.' And if you saw the way she was looking at me, you'd have agreed that my knee's health, and probably that of the rest of me, depended on keeping mum about that particular subject."

" 'Ave you been nippin' at the ale all evening, your grace? Because that is a bunch of nonsensical blathering, as far as I can tell," replied Edith

"Perhaps, perhaps," said Rossaroni, not really having the energy to explain Q Device theory to a backwater tavern barkeep. "But, thanks for the pint, Edith. It was just the pick me up I needed. I'll now get back to figuring out how enslaving some wogs can increase the share price for John Company by half a pence. Cheerio!"

Operation Excelsior Dramatis

The Admiral had it all figured out. This gambit was known as “The Old Squawk” and it was never known to fail unless the individual under control had somehow broken the conditioning. Ridiculous! This was of course impossible and, relieved, the Admiral then began whistling a catchy tune, which in another part of the multi-verse was the bridge portion of Matthew Sweet’s 1990’s hit “Girlfriend.” Regrettably, he was interrupted by Woody.

“You know what?”

“What is it now Woody?”

“I think this cabin is a couple inches smaller than Turnips.”

“Oh, uh, yes, well I’m not really concerned with that now.”

“Can I look at your magic sword, Sabrina? I need to practice for the big battle.”

“No not right now – I’m looking for something for the Chicken-based assault on Lord Toranaga’s stronghold”

“Please, please, please?”

“Huh, ok, sure you can, just don’t swing it around in here – as you pointed out, this cabin isn’t very large.”

“No problemo skipper, I’ll be careful”

“Really? I recall Lady Lyme Weoghe recounting numerous instances of you pushing buttons marked ‘don’t push’ and pulling levers marked with similar warning signs.”

“Look, I said, I’ll be careful plus you know Lady Lyme Weoghe is always exaggerating about things like that.”

“I find her advice to quite sage actually but ok, here you go”

“Nice” and Woody began to swing the glowing +4 long sword about. He even practiced a few thrusts at life sized dummy of Sir Bocking the Admiral used for “batting practice.”

“Why that fink – He’ll pay for that - he painted buckteeth and 'google eyes' on that dummy!” Sir Bocking whispered half to himself and half to Kaotic E and Zimbar as he peered through the peep hole he’d drilled for the express purpose of spying on the Admiral. Sir Bocking however, was about to be rewarded with a rare treat for Woody had raised the shining blade over his head and was about to cleave the fencing dummy in twain. Instead of striking the dummy though, the blade made fatal contact with the over-sized crystal chandelier the Admiral had installed after the last sacking. The chandelier of course came crashing down right on the Admiral.

“Woody you blithering ….. “ was all he could say as stars and cartoon bluebirds filled his mind's eye.


Luckily he came too in what seemed like moments later but he was no longer in his cabin. Instead he was surrounded on three sides by what seemed like a very flimsy wall with bits of multi-colored cloth tossed over the walls in the fashion of drapes. The Admiral noticed he was surrounded by eleven other gentlemen not wearing swords or chainmail but dressed in toga like outfits completely sans weapons. A plate and goblet had been placed in front of each on long table and a man with a beard and long hair was looking directly at him and singing. The ten remaining coves gazed at him wearing shocked expressions and making denials of various sorts. The singer appeared to be directing his wrath directly at the Admiral as he belted out a song.

“One of you here dining, one of my twelve chosen will leave to betray me!”

There was an awkward silence followed by a "I'll have a Morey Amsterdam sandwich if you've got one"

"CUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT" yelled an annoyed director.

A Delicious Evening

Lord Woodpecker-Smythe, Lord Turnips, and the Admiral were gathered around the Admiral's table and set down to a delightful meal prepared by Cash, Vardaman and Binky the hyper-intelligent (although-not quite-human smart) Monkey. Tonight's board of fare was Almond Boneless Chicken, a specialty of Lord Turnips' Estate and one that the Cash/Vardaman/Binky triumvirate could passably copy from Lord Turnip's scribbled recipe.

Turnips was extremely enthusiastic about the meal which reminded him of his home and hearth. Admiral Rossoroni and Lord Woodpecker-Smythe humored him. The meal, although quite filling, was naught more than crispy fried chicken breast, some sauce, and white rice: fairly pedestrian for their tastes. They even supressed an argument over the choice of wine in deference to Lord Turnip's blue mood.

Lord Turnips turned to his associates. "My good companions as you know I have a strange sense that I've been blacking out and committing horrible crimes. I can't help but think that these questionable sackings and pillagings that we have been witnessing lately have been somehow our responsibility in some way."

Admiral Rossoroni gave Lord Woodpecker-Smythe a quick look but was unable to stop him from blurting out in an uncharacteristically childish taunt. "DUH! Where have you been? The Admiral brainwashed you so you could do his dirty work you daft old agronimist and minister of state."

Admiral Rossoroni kicked Woody under the table. Woody realized his mistake. "Um, I mean, yes it is odd how so many castles, ports, temples, wizard keepes, hobbitons, and rabbit warrens have been razed recently. "

The Admiral pulled out his gold pocket chronometer and dangled it in front of Lord Turnips. "Turnips, I need your attention. I want you to keep your eyes on this until I count to ten. When I reach ten I want you to forget everything Woody has told you and I want you to signify that you have done so by whistling."

The Admiral commenced his count and at the conclusion Lord Turnips sat silent, a blank look on his face. Admiral Rossoroni grew concerned at the silent impassive face of Lord Turnips. Had his hypnotic suggestion failed? Was this a cross-wiring? How many links had he programed? Those beautiful links were so numerous could he really trust the response he would get? Lord Turnips was an enigma. He was bright but often daft. Not always quick on the uptake but the reprogrammed version had a hell of an uppercut and was skillful with the blade and knew a number of 10th level cleric spells.

"Am I talking to Hannon now?" he asked.

At that Turnips/Hannon got up out of the chair and began crowing like a rooster.

"Cocka Doodle Doo!" (or something similar)

Lord Woodpecker-Smythe exclaimed: "Good Lord! Now you've done it Rossoroni. What did you do to him now?"

Admiral Rossoroni called for Vardaman. "Bring me the black bag located on the trunk in my quarters immediately."

"Brwawk" Chirped Turnips/Hannon.

Harmony Restored and A Perilous Decision Awaits

The two sparring warriors calmed a bit following Turnips departure. Each looked quite abashed.
Woody: "I'm sorry"

The Admiral: "No, I'm sorry"

Woody: "I'm sorriest"

The Admiral "Ok, you are the sorriest, but I'm still really sorry"

Woody: "Friends?"

The Admiral: "Friends!"

The brave and manly former-combatants shook hands and reviewed the situation.

Woody: "Where did Turnips go?"

The Admiral: "Oh brother, weren't we trying to cheer him up?"

Woody: "I think he was kind of upset about all that sacking even though the sacking was only light to moderately sacking."

The Admiral: "I agree, he's too lawful good for his own good whereas you and I are rather more of the chaotic variety. And, a little more neutral-ish (and here he caught himself) although we are totally committed to rescuing Lady M and Johnny Sixguns, re-building the magic dingus of seven parts and restoring Livoniumtonchester to its former glory. Yes, ok so we are a little chaotic neutral-ISH. But certainly not EVIL! And, I did get a nice Hummel figurine that I was looking for - Its rated quite highly on the Bradford Exchange."

Woody: "Oh sure, but you know if you don't pay Schlamazel the Butcher back, he'll grill our &%%^%^$ that'll take more than a Hummel Figurine and a couple of enchanted gizmos."

The Admiral (putting his finger to his chin, pensively): "True, True, that means we might just have to do some more freebooting."

"Back to Kristal Stadt?" asked Woody? "All we got there was this magical porcelain horseshoe shaped thingy."