COPYRIGHT INFO The Sporadic Verses are copyright 1992, 1993 and 1994 by Jeff Berry and Ben Baron. They may be reproduced in any SCA publication so long as this copyright notice is retained, they are not sold for profit, and the authors receive a copy. If you want to sell them for profit, or buy the nice bound collected editions, contact Jeff Berry, nexus@panix.com END OF COPYRIGHT INFO - Date: 11/25/97 The Sporadic Verses - an epistle in n parts Being a Satire of nothing in particular wins friends and influences people! From the politically correct pens of Louis-Philippe Mitouard and Alexandre Lerot d'Avigne Episode the Fifth Chapter Seven and a Half The company arrived in Obscuria, passing on the way the burned spires and hovels which marked John's handiwork. Finally, they came upon the town square, hoping to find an inn in which to stay for the night. Not incidentally, this was also a fine place for Lance to look for a consort. In the town square, standing on the speaker's podium, there stood a slim young woman, hectoring the small crowd which stood about her. She was clad in such fine garb that Lance thought she must be royalty, but to his surprise she wore no coronet. Lance dismounted and worked his way up through the crowd, casually maiming only a a few of the common rabble as he went. He stopped when he was close enough to hear. "Brothers and Sisters, renounce your worldly possessions. Renounce your titles. In the new world, we will have equity." The crowd cheered. "Cast the King from his throne. Representative leadership is your future. If you will support me as Steward, I will bring great rewards to our small shire." She waved her Application for Steward in the air for emphasis. She finished her speech to enthusiastic applause, and with a snappish salute to the crowd stepped off the podium. Lance dove through the crowd to follow the enchanting young woman, pausing only long enough to club a young man who had cheered particularly loudly, "Cast the King from his throne indeed!" "Such fire," he thought confidently, as he broke free from the crowd. "Such verve. She has some misguided ideas, but after _I_ get through with her she'll beg to be queen." At last he thought he recognized her. She looked like Countess Fatima O'Rourke. He must have seen her at some war or another. He caught her just as she was stepping into her carriage to leave. "Your Excellency," he said, "that was a fine speech." He smiled, flashing a perfect white set of teeth and adjusted his oversized coronet. That always seemed to work. She shot him an evil glance. "From now on, call me Citizen O'Rourke, brother. I will presume no other title." She slammed the door of the carriage in Lance's face. The carriage drove off. "What a vixen," he thought. "I simply must have her -- as my queen, that is." Behind him, the crowd slowly dispersed. The man he had clubbed looked up from the ground and made a quick sketch of the Archduke on the inside cover of the manuscript he held, then climbed to his feet. Brushing the mud off of his clerical habit, he slipped into a nearby alley and disappeared into the night. Chapter Eight John, Cyrano and the cavaliers arrived at the house of Jasper Goldstone at nightfall. It was a house in the center of the city, nestled neatly between the Latin Quarter and the Spanish Eighth (referred to naturally enough as the pieces of eight). They were greeted by Jasper who welcomed them enthusiastically, especially after he found out that the cavaliers enjoyed a good party. The cavaliers were feeling rambunctious, but they quickly learned that Jasper was feeling a bit under the weather, so he sent the cavaliers off to enjoy the annual Guardsman's Open House, which was being held that evening. Jasper figured they'd open ten, maybe twenty if their thief had his lockpick handy. John begged off going -- someone needed to stay out of jail, he thought. Jasper was a big broad man, with a loud laugh and a loud voice to go with it. He was slightly greying, but still showed the muscles built up over years of cuffing citizens and pushing crowds aside to make way for oncoming royalty. Cyrano and Jasper spent the evening in idle conversation. John spent the time simply enjoying the cavaliers absence. "I've had packs of dogs that were easier to control", he thought. "What have you been doing with your life, you rogue?" John asked Jasper at a lull in the conversation. "Did you ever get your book finished?" "Oh lord, no. I found something better to do with my time. I'm a publisher. It makes enough that I've almost retired from the guard. I only work on special occasions -- you know, executions and the like, mostly to pass the time. You make great tips on executions. Come on downstairs. I'll show you." They opened a trapdoor and descended down a ladder into the cellar, where stood a large printing press. The workbench next to the press was strewn with printed letters, handbills and the like. John picked up a newsletter from the workbench. It read 'Words of Truthe, Chearfully Dispensed, Vol 12, Issue 2. 10 p. (5 for subscribers of noble rank).' "I write that one myself." Jasper said, pointing to the newsletter that John held. "Hasn't learned to spell a whit in all these years, either," John thought. Jasper gazed at the letter for a moment, "John, I think I see an error -- how do you spell 'a whit'?" John merely sighed. John browsed the issue. In the table of contents he read, 'How to improve your sex life in the Royal Court', 'Why beggars should be able to wear a fillet', '10 handy fealty oaths good for any swearing occasion'. "Pretty rough stuff," he said. "You must keep one step ahead of the law to keep printing this." "Well, no," Jasper replied. "I got tired of that years ago. Takes too much out of you to keep bribing the Royal Constable", he winked as he gestured, rubbing his thumb on his forefinger, "cuts down on the old profit margin. Besides, then I just had to beat it back out of him at cards. No, I found something better." First Movement Jasper then stepped back from the workbench, and to the swelling strains of the hitherto (and still) unseen orchestra, began to sing: If you're in a hopeless spot, things you said you wish said not, Faced with death or disembowelment or disfavor, If things are insecure, 'Cause you printed you were sure that edible is the Queen's most favorite flavor, (spoken) [as if the rest wasn't - ed.] You forgot the disclaimer. By the order of the Crown, it pains me to say, that these words are not mine but others, I so am honor-bound to point out, that any opinions expressed here, accidentally or on purpose, by any persons, either living _or_ dead, are not those of the editors, and that any reprinting or otherwise unauthorized use of these words and opinions will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. You're not a scurvy rogue, or an ugly halfbreed toad, or some poseur or pretender or defamer. You've been printing just the truth, or it seems that way to you-th, Though to make it up, you really had to labor, So, remember here my boy, that the truth is not a toy, if you speak it you cannot be held to blame-er. They'll see the light of reason, but to them it's simply treason, you merely have to fly the big disclaimer. "Whew," John said as the music faded, "where did that come from?" He swiveled his head, looking around the cellar around in confusion for musicians. "Oh, sorry, old chum, didn't you remember -- at least one song per story. It's in our contract." Editorial Aside The astute reader will no doubt notice a change of tone, and even of labeling, in the preceding section. Scholarly opinion is divided on this passage. One camp holds it be apocryphal, added by some early editor. Some even going so far as to suggest that the author might be Richard Ingo l'Etoille, a failed Gregorian chant writer and percussionist who was forced into editing to make ends meet. The other dominant school of thought holds it be the authentic work of the original collaborators, pointing to the resemblance between the structure of this work, and that of Chaucer's early work in the Gregorian medium, such as, "Canterbury Rock" (peaking at number 34 in 875), "Splish Splash, I Come From Bath(The Widow's Song)" (a disappointing number 79 in early 876), and his classic, "Paradise by the Nave Light" (number 1 for 16 consecutive weeks in 876). The first school terms these arguments weasel excrement, but hasten to add that the orchestration of "Paradise" is innovative and excellent. They then point out that no one has been able to acquire a copy of "Canterbury Rock" since the purge of 902, so comparisons there are off base anyway. The second school, the traditionalists, usually laugh at this point and claim access to the original masters, and say that they have a lovely copy but that they can't show it to unbelievers, so there. The first school, or revisionists, generally draw weapons at this point and the ensuing discussion is quite lively. As to your current humble editors, we claim a middle ground, suggesting that it was a hitherto unknown collaboration between Chaucer and R. Ingo l'Etoille. Chapter Nine King Jocko the Twelfth was happy. Crown tournament was approaching and that always made him unhappy, but this time was different. Jocko liked being king. He liked pushing people around, and throwing his weight around without let or hindrance. That meant that crown tournament was a bad time for him because he was soon not going to be King anymore. But not this time. Jocko was addressing his curia, "Gentlemen, and Lady", he said with a nod to Mistress Precipitate LaCoup, his only female advisor, "I have been studying Corpora, with the able assistance of Master Osmond the Pedantic and have something to tell you. I will not be stepping down after crown tournament." "Sire! How can that be!" cried out Sir Reginald Miyamo, the high court entertainment co-ordinator. "The full might of the Imperium will fall upon us if we violate their edicts." "Sir Miyamo-san, fear not, upon careful consideration I have found the following. First, it is required that we hold a crown tournament at least twice a year to determine a successor, correct?" The curia members nodded. "But nowhere does it say when those successors must be crowned! Therefore, I will continue to reign, and we will accumulate a list of successors who may be crowned at such time as I choose to step down." The meeting erupted into a furious discussion of this tactic which would have continued for a great length of time had not Jocko stood and glared, "I will leave you to work out the details, it is time for my afternoon constitutional!" "Constitutional?" inquired Lord Klaus Von Horse, the Minster of Equestrian activities. "Aye, that's when I find people who favor constitutional monarchy and gift them with their very own sucking chest wound! Ciao." With that, Jocko left the meeting room as his loyal advisors tried to figure out how to turn this move to their advantage.