Chapter 1

The Gallant Gents of Gatsbury, Act One.

In which the Gallant Gents incur the rage of a mob of Frenchmen and proceed to befuddle them most thoroughly.

 

‘So the Rabbi replied, “I shan’t fletcherise the Priest lest Sir Chazwozer gets impugned!” It was a jolly good coronation. Shame you missed it.

‘Yes, well, duty on occasion calls a man away from such manner of gaiety. Someone must be on the watch for the Whitechapel Ripper and Detective Watts has that case of gout to deal with.

‘Well, you most certainly should attend the next. Ol’ Queen Vicky shall undoubtedly not last forever and these occasions are such splendid fun.

 

Williamsworth Jackington and his dear friend, the Duke of Scotland, sat in the latter’s vast French summer estate as the former told of Queen Victorias recent coronation ceremony when, unexpectedly, Jackingtons butler, Sir Grimswald Jeevesworthington, burst into the room; a fearful look on his butlerish face.

 

‘Sirs! Sirs!’ he said. ‘The most terrible misadventure has befallen me!’

‘Calm down Jeevesworthington.’ Jackington interrupted. ‘Whatever troubles you, I’m sure it’s not all that bad.’

‘Oh, but it is sirs!’

Jeevesworthington collapsed into a seat, flustered by the terror gripping his heart.

‘Just take a few deep breaths and tell us all about it.’ the Duke of Scotland interjected.

Jeevesworthington paused a moment to gather his thought before beginning his harrowing tale. ‘I was at the nearby market; purchasing champagne, tea and caviar for tomorrows box social; when an employee of the establishment asked me to complete a short survey.

 

‘I, of course, agreed- eager to display my appreciation of the adequacy of the service provided; when I noticed the designated are for me to write my name was less than a flagon in length, not near enough to fit Sir Grimswald Jeevesworthington!’

‘Great Scott!’ Jackington exclaimed. ‘Whatever did you do?’

‘I fled at once of course.’ The Butler replied. ‘Fled to the safety of the Dukes summer estate, but a mob of peasants; rightfully rageful, soon formed behind me- and I fear they shall soon breach the exterior!’

‘Then we must rise to action!’ ejaculated the Duke as he loaded his hunting rifle. ‘Quickly! To the rooftop!’

 

The three gentlemen raced through the manor, sped on by fear, towards the rooftop; where the Dukes beloved biplane collection rested.

‘My beloved biplane collection rests on the rooftop.’ He said, because the characters cannot hear the narration. ‘If we can reach it, we shall be able to escape these wretched peasants.’

 

Suddenly, the manors door burst of its rusted, ancient hinges; letting loose a flood of angry Frenchmen.

 

‘Quickly!’ Jackington said as he turned to face the advancing hoarded. ‘Run! I shall hold these cretins back!’

‘No! Sir!’

Jeevesworthington ran back to his master, a tear in his eye. ‘You can’t! This is all my fault! They shall likely end your life!’

‘Flee these cheese-eaters! Now!’ Jackington replied ‘It shall be your last command in my employ!’

Jeevesworthington turned away, his heart burdened by grief, before moving on; into the manor and after the Duke.

 

The Frenchmen paused a moment, Jackington filled with such gallant determination as to strike fear into all their hearts.

‘YOU SHALL NOT PASS’ he quoted, his voice trembling with rageful rage.

‘Out of ze way, you zilly Eenglish teep persoon!’ A Frenchmen retorted. 'Or we shull keel you AND ze bootler!'

'Do your worst.'

 

The Frenchmen began there advance towards the lone Brit, their numbers so great the Earth trembled beneath them and their blades so many the metallic glint blinded the eye of God himself.

 

Thinking quickly, Jackington tore a British flag from the ground besides him and, with the cloth waving majestically above his noble head; charged the French onslaught. He raised the pole above himself and brought it down, into the lead division; killing them all and leaving their battered corpses a monument to Imperial glory.

 

Suddenly, using their villainous cunning; the French appeared on Jackingtons flanks, leaving him surrounded and flagless.

'You shall noot ezcape zis time; Monsieur Jackington.' the French leader said.

Jackington took a step back as a new found confidence lit up his gallant, British eyes.

'Whut, Monsiour, iz zis look of triomphe in yoor zittle Briteesh eyes?'

'This' Jackington replied. 'Is the look of FREEDOM!!!'

 

Jackington back flipped a billion feet into the air, landing in the back seat of the Duke of Scotlands passing biplane.

 

'Sir!' Jeevesworthington joyfully exclaimed. 'You made it!'

'Right.' Jackington replied. 'Now lets blow these suckers.'

 

The Duke pulled a lever on the plane, dropping a billion megaton bomb on the Frenchmen bellow and turning Paris into a smouldering crater.

 

Little did the gallant Brits know, below; deep within the crater- a single Frenchman clung to his life. Swearing a solemn oath of vengeance, he took up his blade and began a lifelong crusade against Great Britain.

 

His name: Napoleon Bonaparte.

Author's Note

I decided to try speed writing. Comparisons with my old stuff would be appreciated.

Reviews

[StarNinja]

I say, old bean, jolly good write up you have here. As a student of history I have to say I was quite shocked to learn so many new things about British culture and Napoleon's humble origins. It was enough to pop my monocle from its resting place on my very high cheek bones! Brava, sir! 5 starts out of 5.