Although the Sun had yet to shew his face, already a pearlescent light had begun to finger the sky. By this light a jolly little bum-boat was stealthily being rowed along with muffled oars toward the Vulgarian shore.
Captain Voleur des Coeurs struck a pose in the pointy bit of what he had taken to calling "the bows of the ship" and peered - not without melodrama - ahead. "You know Theo, I've often thought about taking up a Naval career."
Behind him sat a small, nervous figure. This figure shrugged it's shoulders with a regrettable lack of perceptibility (should the word exist), hampered as it was by a large greatcoat, scarf and ermine muff. "Have we a Navy? I'm sure my dancing master once told me that Alzheim is completely landlocked."
"Details. I'm sure that cousin Georgie over in chilly Britannica would lend me a Man 'o War should I feel like asking."
"But the inconvenience. The rats. The rum, the ..."
"Hist! We approach the shore!" Were it possible, the golden-tressed Captain's pose grew even more urgent. "Ship oars you men! Theo, get the sketch-books and foolscap together! We debark!"
With a bump and a scrape, the jolly little bum-boat slid up the shore. Two fusiliers leapt splashing into the shallows to draw the boat up and make it's painter fast to a convenient tree root. The remaining pair hopped over the side.
"Where do you two think you are going? Deserting? Hm? We'll have none of that nonsense in MY company, by G_d! Now, make a bench with your muskets. No, no, no! That will never do! Whith a cushion, with a cushion. One of the good ones d__n your eyes! That's right. Now. Ferry your officers ashore. Smartly, now! And no crafty dropping us in the drink either. I'm alive to all your soldier-games!"
TO BE CONTINUED...