When we last left Sir Rupert, a badly made road map caused him to head East instead of South of his search for the dragon. This sent him off into…
The First Turn
It wasn’t very long at all before Sir Rupert realized his error, but of course by this time it was too late. If it wasn’t, this story would be over by now.
Rupert found himself in a small village…
“Upper Guilford.”
What?
“Upper Guilford.”
Who on earth are you?
“A townsfolk.”
What are you doing in this story?
“I live in Upper Guilford. This is the part where I come in.”
Oh, yes. Right. Carry on.
“Right-o. Sir Rupert!”
“What is it?”
“Thank goodness you’ve come, though it was completely out of your way…”
He took a wrong turn.
“Oh.”
“As you were saying, townsperson.”
“Did I already say ‘Thank goodness you’ve come’?”
“Yes.”
“Right. Well. Ah… Let’s see… Oh, yes. My son, John the 11th, went off playing in yonder misty hills and has not returned.”
“Eleventh?”
“Yes.”
“Well… Err… No offence, but why don’t you look for him?”
“Because, as I told you, the misty hills are haunted.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
“Well, now I have.”
“True.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Will you help?”
“I would, but…”
You will, dunderhead.
“Oh. Ok then, I’ll find him.”
So Sir Rupert ventured into the misty hills. For hours he wandered blindly through the mists, when all of the sudden, as he sat down for a rest, a spectral figure appeared before him, holding the lost boy, bound and gagged, in one arm, and a dagger made from human bone in the other.
“Boo,” bellowed the spectral figure.
“Boo to you, too,” replied Sir Rupert.
“Oh. Well,” said the ghost, “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“People seldom do.”
“I suppose you want the boy then?”
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“No, of course not. Not after a comeback like that.”
So Sir Rupert rescued the boy and returned him to Lower Guilford.
“Upper.”
Right.
The Second Turn
As a way of showing their gratitude, the townsfolk gave Sir Rupert a hot air balloon to help him faster reach the dragon.
As you’ve probably realized by now, things have a way of going wrong. You see, Rupert didn’t know how to fly the hot air balloon. They weren’t used much in knightly activities. So all Rupert could do was drift.
A day passed, and Rupert grew tired. Soon, he was asleep.
When he awoke, he found the he had landed, though not on the ground. He was in the courtyard of a majestic palace, floating on a cloud in the sky.
“Excuse me.”
“Huh?”
Sir Rupert spun around and saw, sitting on a bench in the courtyard, a prince. (Sir Rupert knew the he was a prince from his Nobility Identification classes in Knight School.)
“Ugh,” groaned Sir Rupert, “another ‘knight’ pun.”
“Ahem,” said the prince.
“Oh. Sorry. Hello there.”
“Hello good sir, and welcome to the palace of King Cloud. I am his son, Prince Snowfall. And you, I believe, are a chef.”
“Ah, no,” replied a very confused Sir Rupert, “I’m a knight.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.”
“Too bad?”
“Yes. We’ve got quite a few knights, but no chefs, and my father wants a cheesecake.”
Don’t we all.
“Who was that?”
“The story teller.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, Prince Snowfall, it hardly takes a chef to make a simple cheesecake. I keep a recipe in my pocket edition of ‘Foods Not Fit For Travel’.”
“May I see it?”
“Certainly.”
As the prince read the recipe handed to him by Sir Rupert, his eyes grew wide.
“Oh, this explains it.”
“What?”
“Well, we’ve all tried to make my father a cheesecake, but we’ve all screwed up. It seems we’ve all been using the wrong cheese.”
“Wrong cheese? It’s cream cheese! What have you been using?”
“Gouda.”
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This was posted on Saturday June 7, 2008.