Date:         Fri, 14 Jun 1996 01:03:51 -0700
From: Dale Anson <dale@ANSON.COMPULINK.CO.UK>
Organization: Tasc
Subject:      INT: A Call To Arms: After Conk's rescue

Reserved: Conk

Conk stood and watched as the elf rode out of the alley on her lion.
"What d'you think, Sark?" He asked the Raven.
Sark shook her head and looked skywards.
"That's a bloody big cat," she eventually said.
"Oh, well. We'll have to think about it, I suppose."
And Sark went back to her favourite occupation, which was to collapse on
a shoulder and add to the general unkemptness of Conk. Conk sauntered on
his way, wherever that was.

He turned a corner, expecting to find himself heading back to the main
street. Instead, a cottage stood in his way as though it had been dropped
there. It was a small white building, just the width of the alley. One
grimey window looked out - though Conk couldn't see in - and a rather
droopy door leaned against its hinges like a drunk. Next to the door was
a wooden plaque inscribed "DunLivin", and underneath that a slate had
been hung. The word "Vacantseas" had been chalked on the slate. Conk
shrugged. Some washing hung outside. Grateful as ever, Conk blew his nose
on a pair of ladies undergarments. There was nothing there which would
have fit him, so he turned away. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought
he saw the house twitch. Nah, that's silly.

"Well, well, well," said a familiar voice. It was Staniel Grotte, out
hunting goods for the slave market. He twirled his staff inexpertly.
"Tell me," he laughed. "Why do they call you Conk?" Quickly he began to
approach, staff back ready for the strike. Conk would fetch reasonable
money at the auction. "I suppose it's because of that nose?"

"No, not that."

Grotte rolled his body, bringing the staff down hard at Conk's shoulder.
Sark flapped unsteadily away. Conk twisted into the body of his attacker,
pivoting on the staff, wrenching from Grotte's hands and flicking it up
to part the mess of red hair on his head.
"It's because of..."
*CONK*
"that."

As Grotte reeled away, Conk hit him square on the back of the neck and
sent him crashing into the cottage door. Grotte sailed through the door.
The door closed. Conk was left looking at the alley, which once again led
into the main street. The raven alighted back on his shoulder.
"How's the ship looking now, missy?"
Sark began dancing a clumsy jig.

---------------------------------

"Pick yourself up there, Mr Grotte." Said the grey haired old lady.
"Park your bottom on the sofa, and I'll bring us a cup of tea." Grotte
looked around at the horse brasses, toby jugs and china dogs.
"Nice place," he said. "I've often thought I'd like to end my days in a
nice little cottage like this."
"Funny you should mention that," she said. "Ginger snap?"

--
Dale

Fools and bairns should never see half-done work