Truth, Like A Fairytale,

By Phineas G. Tuffle

Truth like a Fairytale is an allegory of America. It is set on the planet of An Terra, which is much larger than Earth, where a year is 900 days long. Most of the story takes place in the country of Merica. Merica was discovered (or rather blundered into) by a mariner named Cristobal di Caracteritzi as he searched for a sea route to the legendary Eastron city of Bangbuhm. It was zoned, rather than mapped, by a real estate agent named Merico Vestibuli. There are a number of quirks in Merican history because it was laid out by a man who was looking to make a profit from it - largely in the field of penal real estate.

The story itself is a political thriller in which two of the main characters, "kops" named Wilder McUrphy and Davitt Smyler, are wounded at the outset of the story by a villain "call-ed by some 'Colonel Badde'" as he first tested his "explosive product". The plot hinges on events which span the entire 300 year history of Merica, and has a great deal to do with tensions between one organization known as The Wild Boars (Granddaddies), and the Discus Anterum Society, who (despite over a thousand years of evidence to the contrary) believe that An Terra is a flat disc that has been tossed through space by a cosmic being named Ronson as he played with his cosmic dog named Phostar.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phineas G. Tuffle
• Release date: Dec 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310587405

Book preview

Truth, Like A Fairytale,...

Or

A Badde Beginning

by

Phineas G. Tuffle

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 by Phineas G. Tuffle

Published by John Bartlett

The author reserves all rights to himself.

About the Author

Phineas Gereint Tuffle was born March 21st 1911, in Fowler, Indiana. He graduated cum laud from Fowler High SChool, and won a scholarship to study Liberal Arts at Butler University in Indianapolis. He majored in journalism, and upon graduation secured a position as a cub reporter for the Chicago Sun. In 1943, he was first nominated for the Pulitzer Prize for his essay entitled Sunrise At Kasserine Pass. He won the Dilman Prize for the same essay. In 1944, he was picked up by Midwestern Monthly Magazine to cover the Normandy Landings. Tuffle was to cross paths many times in 1944/45 with friend and fellow Hoosier, Ernie Pyle. The two of them collaborated on several documentaries for Newsreel and Pathe News from the front lines in western Europe. After World War II, Tuffle covered most conflicts involving American military personnel for a number of international publications. Among them were Look, Time and The Economist. During the post Viet Nam years, Tuffle was to enjoy counter culture notoriety after covering Blue Oyster Cult's Summer Tour of 1976 for Rolling Stone Magazine. Until after his death on April 4th 2000, he was known primarily as a war correspondent, as well as a writer of short stories and Christian essays. In his house on the Ormeau Road in Belfast, Northern Ireland, his grandson, Simon Tuffle, found a chest containing the manuscripts of nineteen novels that Phineas expressly desired to have published after his death. Truth, Like A Fairy Tale..., and its sequel, ... Will Be Told, were among them.

Author's Foreword

Quite for my own purposes, I have shamelessly, yet lovingly, exploited two songs from the great history of the English Speaking Peoples. One is the Grand Old Duke Of York. The other, of course, is Loch Lomond. The first is funny and cute, yet full of meaning if you know the story. The second, when sung by true natives of the land, is as hauntingly beautiful as the loch itself. This was the motive behind the liberty. Certainly no disrespect is intended to anyone. Any resemblance between characters on these pages and persons, living or dead, is most unfortunate!

Every blessing to you.

Phineas G. Tuffle

CHAPTER I

"And when they have gone from this life, they will sail to The Far Shores, and wait for the rest of us there at The Feet of The KING"

(The Book of Denominators 12:22)

Wilder bent over the corpse and picked up a note that must have fallen from the dead man's fingers when he was shot.

If someone's grandaddy offers you a joint, don't take it!, he read aloud.

"That is not what it says!" said Wilder's partner, Darken.

Darken walked toward Wilder, smiling with his hand out for the note paper. Darken (whose real name was Davvit Smyler) was not so-called because he was black skinned (which he was), but rather because he was so large that he had a way of filling up doorways and windows and darkening a room.

Feeling somewhat testy, Wilder thrust the note into his hand.

It does say that! Darken finally admitted.

Yeah, I've been able to read Manglish since high school at least.

Not rising to the bait, Darken went over and sat down in a chair against the back wall of the living room where the victim, now cold, lay.

Oh yeah! said Wilder, looking at his partner incredulously and gesturing very pointedly. "Just make yourself comfortable there! I never believed in all that forensic integrity stuff, either!"

Ignoring this swipe as well, Darken looked at the living room window and said, The victim was shot from the house across the street.

Oh great! No, the caller said the shot came from inside this house. Wilder was by this time bent over the body, scrutinizing it without touching it. He spoke into the recorder in his coat breast pocket. The victim was shot once through the head...

And there is a bullet hole in the living room window, Darken finished.

Oh wow! Really? The first sentence was sarcastic. The second was not.

Come look, said Darken.

The big man got up from his chair with index finger extended and went to the bullet hole in the window. Wilder stood up and went to the window with him. The window did not have traditional human glass but the waterproof glass made by the Catfish People, so it did not shatter when the bullet passed through it.

"So, the shot did come from the house across the street! Weapon in hand, Wilder was headed toward the door. Who went over there?"

A look of horrid realization flashed in Darken's eyes. FREEBIE AND TOWBAR! he bellowed as he tried to get through the front door ahead of Wilder.

It was a good thing he did not. Wilder McUrphy was just a little over average height for a Sqatsman, whereas Darken was a giant of a man. Therefore when the house across the street exploded, it was much better for Wilder to be thrown onto Darken instead of the other way around.

***

Wilder lay on the hospital bed and looked over the notes he had been putting together:

The early history of Merica is said to hinge upon two men. Cristobali de Caracteritzi has been credited with discovering it, and Merico Vestibuli with zoning it. I have discovered that this notion completely bypasses the huge contributions (good and bad) made by the many Spanglasi Conquestiadores who came here, as well as the very important roles played by The Discus Anterrum Society and The Grandaddies, one enterprising young woman named Reevy Tubber (Too-berr) and, of course, the Natives.

Contrary to the popular theory taught in many textbooks, Cristobali de Caracteritzi, though credited with discovering Merica, scarcely set foot on the place. He meticulously charted the eastron coast of the the Two New Continents, but his only interest in the land was where the coast would part to reveal the fabled trade route to the legendary Eastron city of BangBuhm. It was after Cristobali's death that his enterprising cousin by marriage, an Italianizi real esate agent named Merico Vestibuli, bought Cristobali's office furniture in an auction of his bankrupt estate, found the maps and followed them to the New World and ultimately to the Other New World - the two massive continents accidentally discovered by de Caracteritzi. Merican History is by now several centuries old, and there are important turning points in that history in which people had no idea... Cristobali is the first of these. He had no idea of the size of the two massive continents he discovered, and so his entrepreneurial cousin could have had no idea of the task before him when he came here thinking merely to make a quick killing in the market of penal real estate. Just as he thought they would, the Manglish were crying out for more and further away places to stash their troublesome fellow islanders. The Manglish were the dominant people group of the Manglish Isles which were off the coast of The Continent (now referred to by New Worlders as the Old Country).

The Manglish were the dominant people of their islands because they actively pursued policies of arrest and deportation against the Welksmen, Sqatsman and Greenishmen who were guilty of trying to exist in the same space as them. They executed their hold on the new lands in typical Manglish fashion by showing up, title deeds in hand, and seeking to evict the Natives. The Natives, of course, refused to take this lying down, which the Manglish thought was very rude and they left amid much shouting of phwah, phwah, phwah, that's not Crippette, wot! – only to return with their army to roust the Natives out by force. A desperate land war ensued that lasted until the early part of the last century (which was, obviously, long after the Mericans - feeling their new nationalism - threw the Manglish out). This last part was different from the popular history books, which usually claimed that the Manglish won these wars hands down because of their inborn ability to make others feel inferior. And that thought really is quite silly when you say it out loud.

Wilder felt particularly angry with the text book people when he recalled having read in a primary history lexicon that there were no Merican Native Wars, because the twelfth Merican President, Sir Myckel Dorightly, explained to the Natives that The stupid Manglish have cleared off and left us with no further need to fight! It was thought by contemporary Mericans to be a lovely sentiment and came at a time when the Mericans wanted to think of themselves as rational and peace loving. But totally untrue.

Contrary to popular opinion, Merico Vestibuli did not sell the Spanglasi King, Jwan (Hwan) Carisma de Garcia (Harcia), several choice parcels of land, then renege. He actually died before he got all the land of the two continents parcelled up (zoned off, as he called it). Because he had no idea of the immensity of the task. In fact, the tract that The City and The Other City were built on were among the last that Vestibuli marked off. He originally envisioned this tract as a plot for a gigantic retirement home complex that he called Pendexxa Falls. This apparently is some wicked pun in the ancient Romanizi which, of course, is no longer taught in schools. Old Merico seems to have grown almost misty eyed the first time he spotted The low flat plain cloven in tew by a very grand looking and picturesque river, close to amenities and suitable for development, with a gorgeous view of The Mountain, twain in tew for a most appealing waterfall effect and The Mountain itself perched like an enormous great bottom on the horizon. Later Bud

Wilder smiled and shook his head when he read that last part. Obviously Darken had been in and typed on his laptop again while he was napping. He started to delete it, then decided he liked better that way. He only deleted the Later Bud part.

In the days before the Manglish had sent very many of their island brethren to Merica, the Spanglasi came on their own, very angry and looking for a fight. The Spanglasi had financed all of Cristobali's ill fated expeditions, except the last which was sponsored by the Danglers. The Spanglasi moneylenders were very serious when they stipulated what return was expected on their investment (not how the textbooks tell it at all). Vestibuli had been able to put them off for a while with the promise of several choice tracts of land. King Hwan Carisma de Harcia, over his head in debt to the moneylenders himself, was persuaded to pull some of his armies back from his wars against the Religionists of Piccardie, and send them to the New Worlds. The Great Conquestiadores came in waves, each with a powerful Spanglasi fleet and army at his back. The first was Generalisimo Sir George (Hor hay) Guberis (Hubris) - Big Georgie Goobers in Merican folk lore.

"Ol' Gen'ral Georgie Goobers, he had ten thousand men

He marched them up to the top of the hill and he marched them down again

Now when they were up they were up and when they were down they were down

But when they were only half way up, they were neither up nor down"

That was part of a very long-ish folk song about this historical person. Wilder looked over his notes and was reflecting that the song had more actual history in it than any twenty textbooks put together.

At this point, Darken had come in with kawfee and fried cake rings. For the first week and a half that Wilder had been conscious in the hospital, Darken was there also. Even though the doctors forbade it, and the whole staff watched out for it, Darken managed to get kawfee and fried cake rings in twice a day. Even after he was discharged fromn the hospital, Darken still managed to come back most days with a kop's favorite meal. But Wilder lost his train of thought here.

After Darken left, he was given a sponge bath and then had a nap.

He resumed sometime later without remembering where he was headed with this note before.

Anyway, Georgie Goobers came to the East Coast of Merica (which was the only known coast at the time), and announced that he was here for his king's choice tracts of land. We Mericans displayed a practical streak very early on. Our ancestors would not call the Manglish out for this. After much Phwah-ing and Harrumph-ing the Manglish overlords would have just commanded them to call out their own militia and deal with it, and possibly shot the poor soul who had been sent to report the invasion. The Early Mericans therefore directed Big Georgie Goobers and his boys westward to the point where the Manglish title deeds stopped.

The old Merican text, written by some early pilgrimm reads;

"Off they marched with their big horns and drums and tooty fluties, behind their banner of The Wild Boar Rampant".

My name is Wilder Kirken McUrphy. The guys call me Guppy. Don't ask. I am a kop in The City. Today, after many weeks of doing so, I no longer hear colors. The Ocular has confirmed it. The doctors are pleased and they tell me I will be going home in a few days. It is four weeks today, 44 days exactly, since I was wounded in the line of duty. Apparently Darken stopped hearing colors after not quite two weeks, and that was why he got to go home earlier than me.

What was worse than hearing colors was the pain in thought. I am not rewriting the beginning paragraphs of these notes. They cost me too much. There was a time when I would have rewritten them anyway. When I became a kop, as far as I was concerned, it was just a job until I wrote the Great Merican Novel. But that was 11 years ago – nine of them spent as a detective. Now, I'm just a kop until I retire. Eating humble jam is such a bittersweet experience.

But eating Bangberry Fruit Pie is a deeee-lightful experience! Enjoy your cold fried cake rings! Later Bud

(Note to self, take Darken to task for spreading out my own text to put his very silly text in)

But that was before I encountered, or more precisely was made the victim of, Colonel Badde's Explosive Product – administered, my buddies are guessing, by the infamous Colonel Badde himself. For me to research and write those paragraphs is my zeng physio, as the psycolocutors around here like to call it. It is physiotherapy for repairing brain damage caused by Colonel Badde's Explosive Product.

Anyway, I was compiling these notes from the research on the micronet I did back then concerning the note that Darken and I found in the corpse's hands on the night. Like his, my memory was scrambled by the effect of the explosion, yet I remembered the words, If someone's grandaddy offers you a joint, don't take it. I confirmed it with Darken. He remembered them just as I did. This was odd for both of us, because I could not remember my parents' names at the time and neither could he.

So, on a kop's intuition, I looked up grandaddies and joints on the micronet, and this is what I found. Or, more precisely, this is what I found that makes much sense to me after weeding out the Ronson. Like the old cliché goes, There's a lot of Ronson on the micronet. I've got a story about how nonsense came to be called Ronson, too, but later.

Now, I am going to pick up where I left off in my extraordinary Merican history research.

So, Generalisimo Horhay Hubris was the first of the Great Conquestidores in Merican history. But after marching the nine thousand Kingsmiles from the East Coast Stadt of New Guernsey to the great Hissemony River that parts the New Continent, traditional history says he and his army arrived just in time to witness the destruction of their fleet by the Navy of The Most Sovereign, Right Grand and Ferociously Independent Island Continent and Republic of Maztecca. The Maztecs, in other words. But according to what purports to be Horhay's journal, they never saw the fleet again after General Hubris, in some fit of pique, insisted there was a way through this land mass to the other side. The best estate surveyors on the continent attested to this. He ordered his admiral to find it and meet him on the opposite coast of this place, where he expected to find choice tracts of land fit for building a city for the angels to the glory of the Spanglasi King. The truth is, General Hubris was not a sailor at all. He was very annoyed about having to cross the Angry Sea only to prosecute some claim on a real estate deal gone bad. He was known to find ships, the sea, and above all sailors very annoying, as well. This according to his own journal. He was not about to let these guys lay around and await the return of me and my men. So, he sent the admiral and his entire fleet to find this mythical route through the Great Land Mass, which they had no idea was two really huge continents and a third massive island continent just twelve miles off the west coast of each. Hubris supposedly says himself that he never saw his fleet again. His ships were probably all destroyed attempting to go round The Cape of Great Fright at the southron tip of The Other New Continent. It is doubtful they would ever have passed from the Angry Sea to the Placid Sea. One thing is for sure: Hubris had no idea" what happened to them.

Hubris was reportedly last seen by Mericans entering Tecken lands about sixty five kingsmiles from this very spot. Of course, that was back in the day when The City and The Other City were merely The Hamlet and The Other Hamlet.

To this day, nobody knows how the Teckens were able put on (what we now know to be) hippety hop rage bowl dance fests with lassar light shows like the ones Horhay describes in his journal. But it is confirmed in the history of the Squatish Mericans that they did indeed possess such technology. Here is how it happened -

I have just been told that Freebie and Towbar are dead. They were found out behind the house across the street. Both shot once through the temple. I mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Wilder was found by Babe and Streetcar as they smuggled in more fried cake rings and kawfee.

They called the Nurse, who called the ward doctor, who confirmed that he had relapsed into neurotrauma and then called the chief surgeon, who summoned the Head Oculator, Psycolocutor and Neurologyst to explain why this man lapsed, who was passed by them as out of danger from the damage done by the pulse, which was one of the unique qualities of Colonel Badde's Explosive Product.

Apparently not relapsed as badly as the doctors feared as Wilder resumed his journal two days later.

So, Jaymes Freebie McFeld and Myles Towbar Jenner are dead. Each shot once through the temple – an apparent ritual (if hasty) execution. To my buddies, this confirms that we are facing the infamous Colonel Badde, who is known to hate kops. For all of us, it is the end of an era. Freebie had less than two months to retirement. Towbar, just over a year to go. Every Kop in The City had ridden the streets with one or the other. It was a rite of passage for a new kop. I was a knucklehead, who needed to ride with both. Our boss, Chief Halford Bidwell, put it very well at their memorial service They were finally promoted a few years back by my predecessor, Chief Damen O'Spoons, who told them, 'You two are going to be sergeants whether you like it or not!' This brought muted laughter from the mourners, but then he got serious and said what we all think. They were more than a pair of street kops, killed in the line of duty. They were an institution in the lives of each one of us gathered here by their gravesides. The City and this police force will never be the same again. This is a time of mixed emotion for all of us. We are not sad for them. They are at The Feet of the KING. We are sad rather for ourselves, who are left behind and having to carry on without them. Then Chaplain Goodwell, the longest serving member of this force, in the main address, told how each had got his nickname. Young Officer McFeld quickly earned the respect he enjoyed during his entire career by never accepting a bribe or gratuity. Even among the underworld, he was greatly respected, refusing to take a gift of five thousand bollars from the Great Donn Chipolt-li, after rescuing a kitten which turned out to be the pet of the Maviosi Boss's daughter. He said 'No sir! That was a Freebie!' And, Patrolman Myles Jenner was noted early on for his style of leadership, which seemed to be as though – and I am quoting one of his early evaluations now: ' he pulled people along like he had them on a towbar.'

I have watched the recording of their memorial service many times over. I cry unashamedly every time. I am in good company. Whenever the cameraman panned the crowd, he managed to catch more than one kop discretely wiping a tear from his or her eye, others bawling openly, still others wracked by sobs. In fact, most kops, I venture to say, have cried as much as the families of these two fallen heroes. While I was comatose, I had no idea that two massive influences in my life were being buried on the same day. They were like two uncles I never had. To lose them both at the same time is too much. I will kill Colonel Badde myself.

At the time he wrote this Wilder had no idea how many times that oath had been repeated since Colonel Badde went rogue. He also still had no idea that he had lost half of his right leg in the explosion.

CHAPTER II

Wash not thy two hands together. Wash ye first thy right, discretely, then sneak ye up on the left to wash thou it ferociously .

(The Book of Priests 7:41 – Authorized 2529 Version)

This supposedly blissful state that Wilder was in over his missing limb was made possible by an alleged miracle of modern medical science known as a sympathetic prosthetic. Not only did this device trick the patient into thinking they still had their limb(s) and they are merely in a cast, making it impossible to move them, but they also gathered data on how the patient's brain talked to his former limb, in order to build a fully digitized, profoundly human-like prosthetic. It was primarily a product of the Oculatory discipline. It was described by the Psycolocutors as a cunning device that even fooled the patient's brain into thinking the limb itched, ached, suffered spasms, cramps or anything else the Oculators wanted it to do in order to better understand the patient's needs. The psycolocutory community were widely opposed to the deployment of such devices into general medicine, because of the way the patient responded upon discovering this elaborate deception. The rejection of the device is then so complete that it loses its effectiveness, because the brain will no longer converse with it. Not only that, most patients think it's a dirty trick, even after the reasons behind the deception have been explained. It takes a long time for some of them to ever trust a doctor again, whether he or she wears a ridiculously large monicle on one eye (like oculators do) or not. They therefore gave it the worst possible condemnation in their terms. They called it a bad idea. The rest of the medical world, however, mostly considered the average psycolocutor to be a little prissy in their technique.

The reader will soon be able to attest that the Psycolocutors had a good point in conference table speak.

Anyway, the world goes on, and so does the supposed story of Horhay Hubris.

According to his journal, Hubris arrived in the Tecken city of Hutt-I in time for the nightly display. He goes into great detail in describing the lights over the streets, houses and canals of this amazing metropolis. He somewhat humorously describes the huge five tiered pyramid with steps going up it and priests of the local religion lining each terrace. He describes the Ring Dingy Dingy song, with illustrations of people getting into boats and falling out of boats and being smashed by giant four legged beasts being depicted in red, white and blue lights fired at the lesser pyramids in the city or against the clouds by the means of some fantastic gun as the great generalissimo described it.

Then the great priest/chief It'to Booyeah (meaning: A Face That Looks Like Mavis - Largest Island of the Malvanian Archipelago - When Seen From Space) appeared and Hubris himself confesses that he had no idea what impact this dancing maniac would have on history or on him.

Everything else that Hubris and his men had witnessed up to this point was merely a buildup to Chief Booyeah. The Ring Dingy Dingy song intensified and changed into the Ring Ding Dingy Whistle Hop Hop Whistle Song with flash bombs. Then, Hubris says, a very large man indeed appeared on the top terrace of the great big pyramid, held a device close to his mouth and bellowed EV'RYBODY HOP NOW! Ring Ding Dingy Ding Whistle Whistle EV'RYBODY HOP NOW! etcetera, etcetera. It is claimed that Hubris continuously wrote longhand, with quill on parchment, the above lines on three very long pages, with a few innovations every once in a while' like, like EV'RYBODY TURN NOW! Whistle Whistle Ringy Ding Ding Ding Ding Bovinebell... or Ringy Ding Ding Ding Blockenspiel EV'RYBODY HOP-N-TURN NOW!, with a completely different rundown of the boom-boom boxes, then he finally got around to what happened next. Apparently there used to be a tree indigenous to this part of the world known as a Glow Tree, so called because the wood of it, when green, glowed. So, this glowing green wood was harvested, cut into sticks of equal length, then a string was tied through a hole bored through one end. The natives, whilst doing their rage bowl dance festing, would swing these around over their heads. Now, the old generalissimo claims that his men marched in perfect formation up to the very center of Hutt-I and stood there in rank all this time until a group of young women approached with bowls full of Glow Sticks at which time Privato Esteban, dropped his pike, cried Maman!, and ran away, thus beginning a general sort of stampede". When the dust had cleared, only Hubris and a few dozen of his bravest men were left looking horrified at the pathetic sticks.

Wilder was unaware that Privato Esteban is a slang term amongst the Spanglasi aristocratic/military set and means simply some dumb private - Esteban being the most common name among the Spanglasi. So it was an expression of contempt, just like Urphy Slaw to a Merican Army Mess Sergeant means any bowl of salad with a clockroach in it. Though, in this case, his name really was Esteban, and he was Spanglasi. Yet, he cried Mammon!, which is Piccardish for Mother instead of Mommasita, in Spanglasi. There will be more from him later.

It took several days to round up all the stragglers. In the meantime, General Hubris and his small band of Bravos were shown the delights of Hutt-I. One of which was an after dinner treat, known as qletzcoacle (pronounced clutch, meaning: some of that red weed from the canals, dried and rolled up with some Spores of Destiny thrown in, to be lit and smoked and best enjoyed with friends while listening to music and eating things filled with hot cheese). They were treated so well, it seems, that it took some time for the smartest among them to realize that the military expedition was over and they were now prisoners.

"But as It'to Booyeah (My friends call me 'Face') put it, that should not be allowed to stand in the way of having a good time".

One misconception the Conquestiadores had about their hosts was cleared up almost straight away, when the Natives had another hippety hop rage bowl dance fest the very next night. Being from the Continent, Hubris and his men were accustomed to some pre-battle festivities, which they thought they were witnessing the evening before. According to Hubris, that is why they were so upset. They were expecting a battle, not to be presented with gifts which gave off a spectral glow and looked like a dish full of ghost being handed out by girls who were smiling. If the teenage girls in this community were so fiercely unafraid of the Otherworld, then their warriors must be made of steel, as he overheard his men saying again and again. Chief Face, however, quickly explained to them that what they had seen the previous evening, and were about to see again, was not some sort of pre-battle ritual, but was the ritual taunting of the Mazteccs, who lived proudly independent lives on their island just twelve miles away. This particular pyramid that the chief always stood on was built so that the high priest chief could be easily seen from that distance. The Teckens, it turns out, were making fun of The Most Sovereign, Right Grand and Ferociously Independent Island Continent and Republic of Maztecca, because they had no ships- at least none capable of a mere twelve mile journey. The Teckens found this hilarious, and simply could not help teasing their neighbors about it.

Now, Chief It'to Face Booyeah, was descended from the Great Chief (also called Face)who had discovered the delightful effect you could get by combining two things that were previously thought obnoxious. It'to inherited his chiefdom from the great Face Booyeah himself, as well as his tendency for experimentation. While clever with tecktronics, neither Face knew much of anything about biochemistry or genetics. They had been doing goofy stuff with different common items for centuries. It was in their genes. They had no idea that they also had a gene which told them when they had had enough silliness. It was a good gene, however, and kept them (mostly) from killing themselves with over indulgence. But they could have had no idea that Hubris and his soldiers had no such gene.

For two days, not one of them knew what time it was. It was funny to the Natives to see them laying there in their yards every morning with bottles of drink and the faster food of the day (fried shadfish and monkeypeas, and jellied monkeyknuckle pie) heaped all around them in soppy piles. Then the Natives decided to have a day when they would not give the invaders any more of their recreational concoctions. This was Face's idea, and it was not a good one. While the Natives debated what kind of prison to build for their new captives, the younger men of the expedition were organizing themselves and the older men were begging for more clutch. But the younger men were by far the greater problem that day.

Every army that ever marched had a nickname for its commander. Some were kind and admirable names, terms of endearment or encouragment. Hubris' men called him Jruby Joobler ('Hruby Hoobler'), Precious, or the full version Jruby 'Precious' Joobler – Patron Saint of Hissy Fits .

The Jruby Joobler was a very famous dance hall girl on The Continent, most remembered for her greatest hit, Precious.

Hubris' younger men elected a leader for themselves. It was Privato Ruawl (Roo-all) Esteban. The same Privato Esteban. He approached the Native chieftains and read the list of (not demands, but) very urgent requests", which were mostly complaints.

1.We followed Precious all the long way here, suffering many hardships, to fight a battle. There was no battle, and we want to go home.

2.We do not want any more of your flaming ditchweed and fungus nonsense. It makes our skin tingle unpleasantly, and our mouths taste terrible, and we want to go home.

3.We are not impressed by your buildings, your flashing lights, your booming boxes or your glowing trees and we want to go home.

4.This is not a nice place to visit, we certainly have no desire to live here, it is nothing like home, and we want to go home.

And then, after much weeping and wailing and hippety hopping, Chief Face allowed Hubris' younger men to go home.

And so they waved