CHAPTER 36 - THRONE, MUSINGS, THE ADZ, AND CUFFS.

The Chair and Muffin sat on green lounge chairs in the morning sun on the veranda of the Detached Palace of the Monforte’s. Household staff were scurrying about. Boxes, crates, a half dozen portmanteau’s lay neatly stacked on the edge of the polo field. One large contraption appeared to be a portable bathtub. A large wooden crate lay amongst the freight. On the side of the crate read, ‘Property of Monforte Household – Throne -- to be opened in an emergency only.’ Muffin lay wrapped tightly in a silk bombazine blanket as he puffed steadily on his meerschaum. The Chair wore an old worn pilot’s bomber jacket several sizes too small, kaki trousers and well worn Wellington boots. The Chair was scanning the skies to the south with a small telescope. Several of the household staff lined up at the edge of the polo field, appearing like nothing less than an honor guard of white haired seniors waiting for a bathroom stall to become vacant.

“I remembers when ta jacket fit you,” Muffin said to The Chair. “Your Mother, Countess DeGrease gaves it ta you when you graduateds from the Academyf of Baloons. You weres very dapper. Dashing ins fact.”

“Ah yes,” replied The Chair. “The wine, the women, the song. Those were the days. However,” he paused and looked at his lifelong friend and confidante Muffin, the last of the Monforte Dynasty, “as I remember you drank all the wine, got most of the women, and as for singing…”

A low rumble could be heard in the south from the direction of the Blimp Cartel Clock Tower. Muffin squinted, fumbled for his monocle, and looked sharply to the south as a shape became visible in the dim winter sun. The Chair swung his telescope in the direction of the noise. A few moments passed.

“Ares they here?” asked Muffin.

The Chair did not respond. He always found himself speechless when he saw the beauty of the clouds parting, the sparkling gleam of reflected sunlight off aluminum coated skin, the churning motors venting long trails of white steam…

“Ares they here?” repeated Muffin.

“Yes,” said The Chair. “She’s here. Old 47 ‘Spirit of Io’ and she’s beautiful”.

The Muse of Journalism was snoring. Very loudly thought Jimmy as he worked on his draft article on his current assignment. An assignment he really enjoyed because it was something he knew how to do, and do very well. He was spying on Sindy Blazer. Jimmy had found a new candle and had chosen an ‘Electric Lime’ crayon for his report. He could have chosen ‘Golden Rod’, or ‘Lavender’ but Sindy like lime. She was fond of Corneal Beer with a lime wedge when she was feeling frisky thought Jimmy.

The Muse was really smart Jimmy had realized. Not only did The Muse have magic numbers that could get Jimmy free stuff like food, Oh-Oh Bars, and perfectly fitting clothes for the Muse, but the Muse also knew of a secret passage in the Penthouse Suite with little peep holes in every room. As long as Jimmy was quiet as a mouse he would not be discovered peeping at Sindy. However when Sindy took a shower he had a hard time remaining silent. But journalistic neutrality, and a professional commitment to impartial accuracy, had taken over and he carefully documented everything. He even took pictures with his me-Phone, all in the name of journalism. He was proud of his accomplishment and this was going to be the best draft article ever.

He glanced at his work.

BLAZER TAKES SHOWER
WATER WASHES WILT WITHOUT WEAR
Jimmy Whashisname, Correspondent and Journalist for the Times.

Last night Sindy took a shower. I know because I saw it. She took her clothes off and I watched from a peep hole that the Muse of Journalism told me about in the secret passage up on the penthouse floor that was locked up except for the magic code that got me in to see her beautiful bazooms and tight bum and naughty bits that made me all tingly and think about you know what but I didn’t, well at least not for a while, cause I had to write this down and I hope to get at least a ‘c-‘ and perhaps a promotion when the Muse reads it. Anyway she took a shower for a long time, and then she stepped out of the shower and I got all funny feeling and she wrapped up her hair in a big pink towel and then she got another pink towel and hid her lovely curves from me and I could not see the good part anymore. Then she got into jamies with little bunnies and froggies and went to bed. She was not wearing panties, I know because I saw her put on her jamies and I was very careful to observe just as the Muse had said to do because of professional responsibility. She turned out the light and I could not see any more. See photo spread on next page.

Signed.

Jimmy Washisname. Age 18

Wow thought Jimmy, I’m getting good at this. In no time at all I will make Executive Editor. I know for sure he thought. The Muse of Journalism had told him he had pullulating talent and incipient bombast. Jimmy felt proud.

The Muse snorted and awoke. “Ok Jimmy, let me see what you got. And go to the coffee cart and get me some regular. Make sure there’s creamer in it this time.

Jimmy immediately responded “ Oh Yes Mr. Muse of Journalism. I shall obey. What is your command?”

“Sheesh,” said the Muse from the darkness of Jimmy's secret office in the sub basement of The Times Tower. “Go get me some coffee, and give me your copy.”

“Yes Mr. Muse of Journalism. I shall obey,” said Jimmy as he dashed for the ladder leading to the basement level.

The Muse of Journalism picked up Jimmy’s copy and groaned. “What crap,” said the Muse. “But the pictures are nice.”

Mallory had left Chris’ office in the Reserve Bank and Counting House of Second Life. Chris pulled open the drapes and then turned to Philpot Onus. He spoke in a soft low tone, “Well Phil, it’s as we suspected.”

Philpot nodded.

Chris continued, “How many Yellow Knights can we assemble by sundown?”

Philpot thought for a moment and responded, “Not enough, we are simply not ready.”

Chris sighed. He knew the real truth and that was that the Brick Layers Secret Society was simply too old to mount a horse and take to the field of battle. The Society was so secret and so ancient that it simply did not have the fit and healthy baby boomers needed to wage war. “How many,” Chris said again. “We have no choice we must move and we must move today. It’s a long way to the mountain.”

Philpot thought a bit more. “Seven, perhaps eight,” he said.

“Well if that’s all we have, then that’s all we have. We must move now,” said Chris.

Philpot turned to leave. “Don’t forget the adz,” shouted Chris as Philpot opened the door at the far end of the chamber.

Philpot faced Chris, a thin smile of determination on his face, and nodded. Of course thought Philpot Onus, Minster Extraordinaire for the Department of Antiquities and Dusty Relics, I would never forget the adz. The adz of my ancestors. The bloody adz of Mofo the Brave and Very Dead.

The rust and grime encrusted hinges of Small Bens cell opened with a groan and shudder. A phalanx of black and white clad Sisters of the Order stood before her, and to their left were two vinyl clad female bikers, one with a tire iron in her hand and the other with a short length of chrome plated chain. A tall man dressed as King Henry, stood in a dramatic pose. King Henry, his hand held high above his head pointing toward the thin shaft of light streaming from the tiny window above, and his feet in funny felt shoes with pointy toes, were firmly planted on the slimy stones. King Henry cleared his throat as he reviewed his lines. In Henry’s other hand he held a large parchment with a huge wax seal and with blue and green ribbons dangling from it. He was about to begin his oration. Dozens of glass eyes focused upon the tableau as youtube outlets and paparazzi from all over Second Life broadcast the dramatic event throughout both real and virtual life. The youtube outlets had paid big lindens for this prime time event and an 8 or 9 share was bound to happen. Just outside the cell the anchors began to mumble and pontificate.

The Sisters of the Order snapped to attention. Dust and grime fluttered down from the high stone ceiling. The bikers moved forward and grasped Little Bens tiny wrists and removed her shackles and then placed handcuffs upon her blue and green shivering wrists. The cuffs fell into the slime on the floor. They were too large, or Little Ben’s wrists too thin. The voice of Anderson Coofer and Wolfie Blitzer could be herd droning in the distance. King Henry turned white. He could not remember his lines.