The Epic Tale of Charlotte and Jean Pierre

Chapter 15

2011-01-29T12:41:00.000-08:00

Charlotte reached Potsdorf in record time. It was a lovely city, filled with delicious pastries, designer clothing, musty old libraries, and the best Carpanian cuisine that money could buy. Of course, she didn't have any money, but fortunately for our Charlotte, it was the coronation day of Prince Hapnik and in honor of his royal highness's ascension to the throne, free food was everywhere.

Charlotte sat in the town square, savored a delicious slice of apple-gruyère pie, and calmly watched the chaos playing out before her. Two automobiles raced by, containing a strange collection of characters: a strangely and scandalously dressed woman, a small friar, a man dressed all in white, a man dressed all in black, and a completely bald man with a very attractive mustache. Smoke filled the air and there was a great deal of commotion, with locals scattering in every direction to avoid being killed. Charlotte was entirely unfazed by this gong show. She hadn't eaten in days, her pie was quite scrumptious, and furthermore, she was beyond exhausted.

She licked her plate clean and went about looking for more Carpanian delicacies. As she strolled through the city, picking up some creme brulee here, a grilled cheese sandwich there, she was contemplating her next move. Eating free food on the streets of Carpania was all very well, but somehow she had to earn some money so that she could return home. She could . . . be a waitress? Charlotte shuddered at the thought. Farm laborer? Cow milker? Street sweeper? Flower vendor? The more she walked, the more she realized that, well, she was Charlotte, not some common flower girl. The weeks of rough living had taken its toll on her psychological well-being. She would get money the way any noblewoman would: she would clean herself up a bit and present herself to someone in her social set living in the area. Any nobleperson would surely recognize her and come to her aid.

Charlotte walked out of town and into the surrounding countryside. She took an efficient, non-luxurious bath in an obliging pond, combed her fingers through her hair, straightened her trademark red bow, and smiled hopefully at her reflection in the pond. "Eeeh," she said, flinching at what she saw.

"Eeeh, indeed," said an arrogant, masculine voice. Charlotte turned to find a man on horseback looking down at her. Before Charlotte could explain, she was being arrested for trespassing or something.

*********

Meanwhile, Jean-Pierre, Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo, and Beady had made fast tracks to Potsdorf in pursuit of Charlotte. They too were side tracked by some delicious pie.

"This hyar pie is simply RIDICULOUS! Fry mah hide! ah mean, ah cain't remember th' last time ah ate pie of this hyar caliber," said Jean-Pierre as he polished off a piece of Ned's Four-berry Pie.

"Eet reeeeeally is mahgneeeeefeeecent, eeezn't eeeet?" purred Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo as he had another bite of the Strawberry Chocolate Oasis Pie.

Beady said nothing; he was a cabin boy of very few words. But he was quite enjoying his Twin Peaks Double R Diner Cherry Pie.

They finished their pie just as Prince Hapnik proceeded through the square, soaking in the wild cheers of the peasants. The square was in chaos and confetti filled the air. However, Jean-Pierre was sharp, and he did not fail to notice, among all the chaos, a flash of blond hair and a red bow in the back of a carriage on the other side of the square that was headed toward the jail. Quickly, he pointed it out to his companions and they began to push their way across the square. However, the crowds were packed tightly and Jean-Pierre, Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo and Beady found themselves completely stuck, sandwiched in by the crowds and being covered by confetti.

"No matter, comrades. This hyar party won't last fo'evah. At least we knows whar she's gwine now an' we kin ketch up t'her! Fry mah hide!"

******************

Charlotte was highly irritated, but as she was being booked, she requested that a short message be sent to a local noblewoman who she considered to be a friend. The message read as follows: "Dear Lady Margrit de Walbroia: This is your darling friend Charlotte. I have been thrown in the local jail for an offense of which I am wholly and entirely innocent. Please send assistance at your earliest possible convenience. Very truly yours, Charlotte."

Charlotte did not have to sit in jail very long at all. A servant of Lady Margrit de Walbroia soon surfaced and posted bail. After a long carriage ride out to Lady Margrit de Walbroia's estate, Charlotte soon found herself taking tea with Lady Margrit de Walbroia in a quaint gazebo overlooking a sparkling lake. Charlotte and Lady Margrit de Walbroia had been childhood friends and they had much to discuss. Charlotte told Lady Margrit de Walbroia all about the last few weeks--receiving a tender missive from the manly-man-man jaunty fellow from the stables, being kidnapped by pirates, being stranded on a deserted island with a cabin boy and a chihuahua, being imprisoned by an old woman, nearly being married to a peglegged pirate, being reunited--all soap-opera like--with a former suitor, being kidnapped by the impressive clergyman, and then eating apple-gruyère pie in the Carpanian square before being arrested for trespassing or something.

"Or perhaps it was because I was bathing in the lake. Really, people are SO prudish around here." Charlotte had intended it to be a light-hearted comment, but Lady Margrit de Walbroia did not seem to feel light-hearted at all. She was looking, quite fixedly at her plate, her eyes wide, her face flushed.

"Is something wrong, Lady Margrit de Walbroia?"

"I'm surry. I joost need tu clereeffy sumetheeng . . . deed yuoo sey Jeun-Peeerre-a? A hundsume-a gentlemun veet a joonty beret? Und a joonty moosteche-a? Und joonty goons?"

"Uh, well, I don't remember saying anything about the beret, or the mustache, or the guns. But since you seem to know about that jaunty assortment of characteristics, I'm guessing you sort of know Jean-Pierre. Am I correct?"

Lady Margrit de Walbroia nodded slowly, her eyes brimming with tears . . .

Chapter 14

2010-01-04T22:33:00.000-08:00

Charlotte was secretly grateful that the impressive clergyman had abducted her. Not because he was a capital traveling companion; quite the contrary! The impressive clergyman did not speak much. He had very few manly skills; they were forced to live on berries and grass because he was so inept at acquiring real food. As well planned out as the escape from the house in the hills of Transylvania was, the impressive clergyman had only planned things up until the point the two of them rode off on the horse. The horse was easily irritated, and the impressive clergyman did not anticipate that the horse would abandon them as its earliest convenience. Further, the impressive clergyman had not packed provisions for their flight to who-knows-where. They were hungry, tired, and quiet.

No, Charlotte was glad she had been abducted because she had found herself in a moment of humiliating indecision and he had ended it for her. She could postpone her decisions about love, matrimony, and the spectrum of dashing facial hair for a few more chapters, at least! By the time the heroic duo of Jean-Pierre and Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo tracked her down, she felt she would be able to determine which man she preferred. Charlotte smiled to herself, as she dreamed out various scenarios in which Jean-Pierre and Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo engaged in a series of daring feats to win her love. There was something so DELICIOUS about having the control and being able to pick and choose. But secretly, in her innermost heart, Charlotte knew that she would never love anyone besides her darling Jean-Pierre. However, she resolved that he did need a little competition just so he would be reminded of how wonderful she was.

So, Charlotte spent her days being led along by the impressive clergyman through the forest. The impressive clergyman did not have any sort of amorous designs on Charlotte, of course and much to Charlotte's relief. His whole purpose in abducting her was to hold her for ransom. His plan was not an entirely original one; half of Europe had, at some time or another, considered the possibility of abducting Charlotte, because, as I have mentioned a time or two, her estate was undoubtedly the most handsome estate in all of Europe. The impressive clergyman had set himself apart from the half of Europe who had thoughts of abduction and ransom in that he had opportunity!

But as the days dragged on and on, and as the impressive clergyman's fine robes became more tattered and his muscles, such as they were, became atrophied, his desire for Charlotte's money lessened and lessened and his plans for ransom became more and more murky, until finally one day, Charlotte woke up to find that the impressive clergyman was gone. Here she was, in the middle of a beautiful forest meadow, disoriented and completely and utterly alone.

A stupid girl would just plop herself down on a nearby rock and wait for her jaunty Jean-Pierre to show up and save the day. Fortunately for Charlotte, me, you, and the narrative flow of this epic tale, Charlotte was not a stupid girl. Now that she was on her own again and free to do as she chose, there was no reason why she should meander about in some foreign countryside, hoping that through astronomically good odds, Jean-Pierre would happen upon her in that very meadow. She would return home. It had been some time since Charlotte had gotten a good look at herself in a mirror, and she had a sneaking suspicion that being abducted by pirates, being stranded upon a deserted island, being locked up in a dungeon, and then camping and hiking for several weeks had left her just a little worse for wear. It was definitely time to return home.

However, she was very concerned that Jean-Pierre would spend the rest of his life searching around the world for her, and that it would not occur to him that she had returned home. How to deliver this news to Jean-Pierre was a problem that vexed her exceedingly, but eventually she realized that there was no help for it; she would solve that problem tomorrow.

And so, Charlotte made her way to the nearest town of Potsdorf, in the Kingdom of Carpania to make arrangements for her return home.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the house in the hills of Transylvania . . .

Jean-Pierre and Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo made a mad escape from the house, and on the way, they rescued Beady from his unpaid servitude. He was a helpful lad, and they decided they would need as much manpower as they could muster to scour the countryside for Charlotte. Jean-Pierre and Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo did not discuss the little soap opera drama that had taken place in the chapel. That issue had to be put aside in the face of this larger challenge.

As they dashed away from the house in the hills, Jean-Pierre shouted, "This hyar way, friends. ah can see their trail! Fry mah hide! We will find them in no time. Whar is th' horses? Show me th' meanin' of haste!"

Chapter 13

2009-10-16T19:30:00.001-07:00

It was an awkward moment. Time seemed to slow down and stop, as each of characters stared, bug-eyed at each other. No one was sure what should be done at this moment. There was a definite air of indecision in the air.

Jean-Pierre wondered if he should duel Thor Ingvar or Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo first. Thor Ingvar, though a blood relation, would have to be disposed of if he insisted upon marrying Charlotte. But now things were even stranger. Jean-Pierre wondered if Charlotte even wanted to be rescued from either or both gentlemen, considering the startling connotations of Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo's exclamation. Could it be that his beloved actually cared for another? His brother no less? He reviewed the events of the preceding days in his mind . . . Come to think of it, he had never received a definite response from Charlotte on the subject of their potential mutual affection. Sure, she had cried his name into the night air on several occasions now, but when it came right down to the nitty-gritty facts, Jean-Pierre suddenly realized that he actually did not know if Charlotte returned his unabashed love. He gasped in horror. How could he have made such a mistake? He considered Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo. Could it be that Charlotte's heart beat only for Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo, and not for him? The look on Jean-Pierre's face as he pondered all of this was decidedly less than jaunty.

Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo was also having a moment of indecision and confusion. Could it be that his dear brother Jean-Pierre was in love with Charlotte, the only woman he, himself, had ever loved? What a not-so-charming coincidence! Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo had been one of Charlotte's many suitors over the years, but his affections, sincere though they were, had been ruthlessly spurned by the discerning Charlotte. Not to be put off by a mere rejection, Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo had refused to give up hope that some day Charlotte would change her mind. He had written her love letter after love letter, sonnet after sonnet, emo ditty after emo ditty . . . all to no avail. But Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo still carried a flame for our Charlotte. And now, he was wondering if his own brother, Jean-Pierre, as a rival for Charlotte's affection, must be dispatched. His heart shrank from such a deed, but, after all, this was true love, not some schoolboy infatuation. True love could not be obtained without some sacrifice. But who to duel first? His own dear brother? Or their common enemy, Thor Ingvar, their other brother? This was turning into such a soap opera.

Meanwhile, Charlotte was also experiencing some indecision. Here she was, in the middle of an imminent fray between three men who all had some sort of design on her. And by some strange coincidence, she suddenly realized as she glanced from face to face and tattoo to tattoo, they were all brothers. Of course, she felt nothing at all for Thor Ingvar. And of course, she loved Jean-Pierre. But now, here was Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo. While in days of yore she had spurned his delicate attentions, in this strange setting, Charlotte suddenly felt intrigued. She considered his dashing cape, his Zorro-like sombrero, his intrepid fu manchu and soul patch, his heroic-looking boots, and his dark, flashing eyes. Yes, indeed, Charlotte was intrigued. And very confused.

Thor Ingvar was also indecisive and confused. He had been mildly interested in marrying Charlotte, but now as he looked down the blades of two extremely sharp-looking swords, he found that he was somewhat disinclined to go through with the ceremony. He realized, of course, that these swordsmen must be his younger twin brothers. He had no qualms about dispatching relatives if the need arose, but he had left his own sword upstairs, so he wasn't sure what to do. Punch someone? Run away? Create a diversion? Sic Simone LeFevre on them? What to do, what to do . . .

Speaking of Simone LeFevre, she was also having a moment of indecision. Should she insist on the Louis Vuitton dog carrier? Or the Gucci dog carrier? What was more fashionable this season? It was so stressful trying to decide.

Ekaterina Romanovna Vorontzova-Dashkova just sat there. It was out of her hands, as far as she could see. She scratched behind Simone LeFevre's ears and shrugged.

Suddenly, someone acted, though it was not one of the tattooed brothers. The impressive clergyman grabbed Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo's sword and deftly hacked and severed a nearby rope attached to the wall. Down came the chapel's sole chandelier with a mighty crash, and up went the impressive clergyman with Charlotte in tow. Charlotte let out a shrill scream and she dangled precariously from the impressive clergyman's hand among the rafters.
Fortunately, the impressive clergyman was able to swing her neatly onto a nearby catwalk and scuttle them both away into a secret attic passageway, the sword at her throat.

Down below in the semi-darkness, Simone LeFevre was yipping and jumping all over the pews. Thor Ingvar ran quickly to find some light to sort out the chandelier mess. Ekaterina Romanovna Vorontzova-Dashkova had disappeared in the confusion. Jean-Pierre and Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo were making a mad dash for the doors and staircases that abounded in and around the chapel in the house in the hills. They ran up and down and around in circles, trying to find a way up into the rafters and after their beloved Charlotte. For now, they would ignore their conflict of interest, and focus merely on recovering Charlotte from the impressive clergyman, of all people.

"Don Felipe, find some light an' come hyar quick. Ah reckon ah foun' a staircase thet leads up t'th' attic. It's th' only way ah can find, cuss it all t' tarnation!"

Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo ducked into the hallway, grabbed a torch. He found Jean-Pierre at the east end of the chapel, pushing a large tapestry out of the way to reveal a small wooden door opening into a cramped twisted staircase.

"Ah will hoof it fust, as ah still haf mah swo'd," said Jean-Pierre, with a slight hint of disdain in his voice, "Close th' dore behind us an' keep up. ah do not want Tho' Ingvar follerin' us an' tryin' t'fight us. We haf 'nuff problems!"

Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo handed Jean-Pierre the torch and obediently followed Jean-Pierre up the stairs. They climbed as swiftly and silently as possible toward the roof.

At the top of the staircase was another door. Jean-Pierre slowly pushed it open and the torch went out with a mighty blast of cold Transylvanian wind. Jean-Pierre and Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo waited impatiently for their eyes to adjust to the dim moonlight that covered the roof of the house in the hills. They scampered across the corroded roofing tiles, trying to discover where their darling Charlotte had been taken.

Suddenly, Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo shouted, " Overrr herrrre, Juan-Pedro!" When Jean-Pierre reached him, he found the scorched remains of a rope dangling in Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo's hand. The rope was fastened to the end of the roof, and as they peered over the edge, they say the burnt remains scattered below.

"Wow, thet scoun'rel had his excape planned t'th' last detail, ah reckon. Even burned th' rope thet we c'd haf used t'foller them, dawgone it!" cried Jean-Pierre, mournfully.

The brothers peered into the darkness of the forest below. "There!" whispered Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo, pointing into the gloom. There was a horse with two riders galloping into the forest. Jean-Pierre could clearly see the bright red bow on Charlotte's beloved head in the moonlight, as well as the glint off of the gilded ceremonial headdress worn by the impressive clergyman.

"Oooonbeeeelieeevable," murmured Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo.

Unbelievable. Yes, indeed, thought Jean-Pierre, as he watched his one true love ride further and further away from his manly arms. Would he never be able to ascertain her feelings for him? Would their whole lives play out in this ridiculous chase that never seemed to end? If so, it was still worth it. The mere chance of requited love made it worthwhile to face any challenge, any obstacle, or any foe. Jean-Pierre straightened his jaunty beret, flexed his jaunty guns, and twirled his jaunty mustache. After all, the course of true love never did run smooth. And, also after all, he was Jean-Pierre. He would never fail. He would overcome. He would triumph. He would rescue her!

Chapter 12

2009-04-23T16:25:00.001-07:00

[Editor's Note: In case you missed it, Chapter 11 was an April Fool's Day gag. One that wasn't very good apparently because many readers thought it was legitimate. Dinosaurs and UFOs? Apparently it's not too shocking that those things are all in a day's work for Charlotte and Jean-Pierre. But lucky for us, Chapter 11 didn't happen. Charlotte is still very much with us, waiting in the dungeon for her callipygian hero. Jean-Pierre is still in his rowboat on the way to Transylvania; he is still very much alive, his little life is still very much intact.
For now . . .]

Jean Pierre and Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo finally landed the rowboat in Transylvania. To be perfectly honest, the whole countryside was rather bleak. Jean-Pierre was filled with deep forebodings as he gazed fixedly into the darkness.

Surely such a jaunty fellow as he could not meet a valiant death in such a dank locale! No, of course not. He would survive, as would his beloved!!! Oh yes, and his dear brother Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo, of course; he could survive too. With great panache, Jean-Pierre whipped out his saber, and cried out with all the fervor of his Parisian heart: "Charlotte, mah beloved, ah will find yo'!!!"

It took some time to find the house in the hills. As Jean-Pierre and Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo soon discovered, there were many inhabitants of Transylvania who kept quite late hours. It was after midnight, and yet every person they encountered was quite alert, friendly, and more than willing to stop for a little chat. Not only did they want to chat, but they seemed thoroughly interested in having Jean-Pierre and Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo over for dinner, or tea, at the very least. The brothers were flattered, but insisted that they were in something of a hurry and could not stop for more than a brief colloquy. The more evening hours they passed and the more people they encountered, the stranger their conversations with the native Transylvanians played out.

"No one seems terrrribleee eenterested een geeving us deerections, do dey?" Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo posited as Jean-Pierre calmly extricated himself from the sudden overly-fond embrace of a Transylvanian woman.

"Not perticularly, no. Howevah, ah reckon we may haf jest foun' th' house in th' hills wifout ennyone's he'p. Thet has t'be it! Fry mah hide!" cried Jean-Pierre, pointing at what could be described as a house in the hills of Transylvania. At this pivotal moment, fate smiled on Jean-Pierre and confirmed his theory. Charlotte's voice resonated out of the depths of the impressive structure, calling the very name of her beloved. Jean-Pierre's heart skipped a beat.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, Charlotte was still in her cell, easily resisting the repeated attempts of the lady of the house to induce Charlotte to marry her son. Although Charlotte had never beheld the proposed groom, she felt quite confident that Jean-Pierre was preferable in every way. Of this she spoke frequently to the lady of the house. She rhapsodized upon Jean-Pierre's many virtues (his jaunty guns, his jaunty mustache, his jaunty beret, etc.) and simply laughed at the lady's attempts to take Jean-Pierre down a notch. It was a fruitless endeavor, and the lady realized it. She had Plan B of course, which she intended to put into action shortly.

And now, dear reader, perhaps you are anxiously wondering about the fate of Simone Lefevre, the oh-so-darling chihuahua that accompanied Charlotte and Beady off of the island. Oh you're not? Well, you should be, as Simone Lefevre is the key to several important plot twists as this melodrama continues to unfold in a very dramatic fashion.

Let's back up shall we? As you may recall, Simone Lefevre was enjoying a yacht trip around the world with her adoptive human mother Ekaterina Romanovna Vorontsova-Dashkova when she became marooned on the island due to some inclement weather. She was alone, all alone. But what she didn't realize was the Ekaterina Romanovna Vorontsova-Dashkova had survived the hurricanes. Indeed, when Simone Lefevre pranced off of the hot air balloon in Transylvania, she found herself pleasantly reunited with Ekaterina Romanovna Vorontsova-Dashkova and had since not left her adoptive human mother's side.

Charlotte, not aware of the historical connection, found Simone Lefevre's instant attachment to her captor irritating and downright offensive. She had never particularly cared for hand-bag dogs,and now her dislike for hand-bag dogs was profound indeed.

As for Simone Lefevre, she was somewhat disappointed by her mother's reduced circumstances, but she felt confident in Ekaterina Romanovna Vorontsova-Dashkova's master plan to return them to wealth and society.

Late one night, Ekaterina Romanovna Vorontsova-Dashkova appeared in Charlotte's cell with a gift of sorts. "Bed noos keed. Ve-a joost fuoond thees in zee elleegetur puul in zee menegereee-a. Ooh, und ve-a fuoond zee man it belungs tu. He's gut sume-a joonty goons, I'm nut gueeng tu lie. He's steell berely u-live. Iff yuoo egree-a tu merry my sun thees fery neeght, ve'll try tu noorse-a heem beck tu heelth. Iff nut, ve'll let heem die-a. Zee chueece-a is yuoors."

Charlotte, distraught at the curiously flamboyant beret Ekaterina Romanovna Vorontsova-Dashkova had handed to her, cried out Jean-Pierre's name and swooned. And within the hour, she was preparing for her wedding. After all, if Jean-Pierre's life was hanging in the balance, what choice did she have?!?!?

In another room of the big house in the hills of Transylvania, Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy was also preparing for his wedding. It was rather ironic, he pondered, that his mother was insisting that he marry the very noblewoman that he had so efficiently disposed of like a bag of rubbish onto the island not long ago.

He pondered that day with a devious smile. At his mother's bidding, he had been searching for Simone Lefevre for quite some time. He didn't mind; his pirating and swashbuckling activities usually took him to the area of the ocean where Simone Lefevre had disappeared. However, Simone Lefevre, by sheer instinct, could tell the difference between the the bourgeois and the proletariat, and frankly, when Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy or his men tried to extract Simone Lefevre from the jungle, she refused to come. The solution? Kidnap a member of the bourgeois, deposit her on the island to unwittingly coax Simone Lefevre out of hiding, and then send Calliope, the family servant, to rescue Simone Lefevre.

Unfortunately, Calliope had received her instructions in the middle of a narcoleptic episode, and did not realize that she was not told to bring Charlotte and Beady along with Simone Lefevre. But, fortunately for Ekaterina Romanovna Vorontsova-Dashkova, Calliope's mistake had killed several birds with one stone: Ekaterina Romanovna Vorontsova-Dashkova had her darling Simone Lefevre back, she had a bourgeois bride for her disreputable son, Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy, and she had Beady who had since become an unpaid servant in the crumbling estate. The world was Ekaterina Romanovna Vorontsova-Dashkova's oyster.

* * * * *

A short time later, Charlotte, the owner of the most handsome estate in all of Europe, was walking down the aisle of the big house's chapel in a wedding gown towards Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy. She did not realize that her soon-to-be-husband was in fact the devious pirate who had kidnapped her back in Chapter 2. The reason was that he had recovered his actual head from the local healer, Pinky Monkeychunks, and he no longer carried around his skull under his arm. Further, he had left Euripides (his parrot) up in his room. The only things that should have tipped Charlotte off to the true identity of her soon-to-be-husband were his peg leg and his tattered three-cornered hat. But alas, Charlotte was too distraught and distracted by the whole process of marrying someone other than her beloved jaunty Frenchman to notice these small, but significant details.

Charlotte had reached the altar. The impressive clergyman began his recitations. A melancholy pipe organ wheezed a plaintive tune that echoed around and around the empty chapel. Charlotte blinked back tears and Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy yawned. The only spectators were Ekaterina Romanovna Vorontsova-Dashkova and Simone Lefevre. Ekaterina Romanovna Vorontsova-Dashkova tapped her fingers on the bench and Simone Lefevre licked her nose. The mood was decidedly dismal.

As Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy reached over to take Charlotte's hand, the two doors on both sides of the chapel flew open with a cacophonous explosion. Jean-Pierre and Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo rushed in, sabers brandished, spirits high, adrenaline pumping. They vaulted over railings and pews and rushed the altar. But as they drew near, both slowed with a certain air of confusion. Jean-Pierre, closest to Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy, recognized the hat and the peg leg. But he also recognized something else. There was something familiar on Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy's forearm. At the same time, Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo, closest to Charlotte, looked deeply into her eyes, and his face lit up with an air of recognition.

Jean-Pierre and Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo suddenly spoke at the same time. Jean-Pierre, studying Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy, shouted triumphantly, "Thor-Ingvar!"
Don Felipe, studying Charlotte, shouted triumphantly and with a certain passionate edge to his voice, "Hellloooo, mah spah-cey lovaaaah!"

Chapter 11

2009-04-23T16:22:00.001-07:00

[Editor's Note: This Chapter was originally posted on April 1, 2009.]

At sunrise, Jean-Pierre and Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo reached the shores of Transylvania. With great panache, Jean-Pierre tied their boat at the harbor, whipped out his saber, and cried out with all the fervor of his Parisian heart: "Charlotte, mah beloved, ah will find yo'!!!"

Unfortunately for our oh-so-callipygian hero, those were the last words he ever uttered. For at that very moment, a tyrannosaurus rex named Svetlana who had been patiently waiting on the shore snapped Jean-Pierre up into her bone-crunching jaws, and snuffed his little life out. Don Felipe who was the unfortunate witness to Jean-Pierre's untimely demise tried to run away, but of course, his efforts were entirely fruitless. He was likewise chomped into smithereens by Svetlana's ginormous mandibles.

If Svetlana's arms weren't so short, she would have patted her stomach with satisfaction. Mmmmmmm, she thought, Best breakfast evah! That was delish!

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the big house in the hills of Transylvania, Charlotte was still waiting patiently for her beloved. She was pondering over Jean-Pierre's many obvious virtues when suddenly, the barred window to her cell was ripped off in a wild explosion. After the dust settled, Charlotte braved a peek at the hole where the window once was. A strange green light moved slowly across the ex-window, and Charlotte felt strangely drawn to discover what on earth was outside. Was it Jean-Pierre?

Oh, indeed, it was not. A rather quaint UFO hovered outside Charlotte's destroyed window, whirring calmly. A tidy group of martians were beamed down into Charlotte's cell, and taking her calmly by the hand, they led her back to their ship. With a psychedelic flash of light, the UFO disappeared into the sky and Charlotte was never heard from again.

It will be of note to some scholars that Charlotte neglected to make a will, and hence, her entire estate was distributed under an intestacy statute. Life's tough, kids.

Chapter 10

2009-04-23T16:19:00.001-07:00

It was midnight, and the sky was very sharp and clear. Charlotte looked out across the landscape, her eyes frantically searching for a sight of her beloved, dashing heroically to her rescue.

And quite a rescue it would be, Charlotte mused. Certainly not one for the faint of heart, and lucky for her, she had snagged herself a manly-man-man-man who was most certainly not the definition of weak sauce. More like an antonym than a synonym of weak sauce. And she felt quite confident that he would shortly arrive and dispatch her captors with the greatest of ease.

But to recap: shortly after her arrival she had been dutifully informed that Calliope and Co. had brought her to the big house in the hills of Transylvania with only one purpose in mind: that she would marry the son of the lady of the house. Apparently the lady of the house, who up to this point had remained unnamed, was quite wealthy in days past. But alas! some tragedy had befallen her and she had returned to her run-down ancestral home in Transylvania to recoup and regroup. The lady was now seeking to boost her family out of the squalor of poverty and anonymity and return to her previous quality of life by ensuring that her son would marry a lady of great wealth and distinction. And who better than the famous and beauteous Charlotte, who's estate was reputed to be the most handsome estate in all of Europe? Of course, she couldn't pursue the usual route of formal courtship because her only son was a somewhat unorthodox potential groom (for reasons that will become clear later). Further, the lady was quite concerned about prenuptial agreements; Charlotte was known to have a great legal mind like a steel trap. And so, upon Charlotte's arrival, the lady gave Calliope a cursory smile of approval, and explained to Charlotte her plan for Charlotte's future.

Upon hearing of this insidious plan, Charlotte categorically refused to even consider this proposed groom and demanded to be released. Like a true villainous dowager, the lady promptly locked Charlotte up and told her that when Charlotte was ready to be reasonable and marry her son, she would be released from her bonds.

And so Charlotte waited patiently for Jean-Pierre to come and rescue her. It had been a few days, but Charlotte had not faltered. She knew he would come; he would not forget her . . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was midnight, and the sky was very sharp and clear. Jean-Pierre had blissfully rowed the boat all day long, but now he was weary. Alas, the boat was rather crowded, so the best he could do was drape himself across the horses. His eyes were wide open, and his heart was beating only for Charlotte.

Even if snuggling with two horses could ever be considered comfortable or relaxing, Jean-Pierre was still kilometers away from slumber. Earlier that day, Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo had spotted what looked suspiciously like the dorsal fin of a great white shark near the front of the boat. As the day progressed, he started seeing dark shadows and shapes writhing below them in the depths of the sea. Of course, Jean-Pierre was so incredibly jaunty that he was entirely undaunted by great white sharks. But Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo on the other hand, was something of a gutless wonder when it came to the Carcharodon carcharias. His childhood had been riddled with nightmares, stemming from a badly-timed vacation to Amity Island with his adoptive parents.

After years of intense therapy, he had discovered that really the only way to deal with his phobia was to sing very loudly at the top of his lungs. Further, he had a particular penchant for showtunes, and he had happily found that his shark phobia was most efficiently quashed by the music and lyrics of Lerner and Loewe's immortal My Fair Lady. It was just one of those things.

Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo squawked on and on across the empty ocean. He occasionally cast apologetic glances over at Jean-Pierre who could do nothing but stare up at the stars and muse contentedly upon his beloved.

Suddenly, there was some splashing off in the distance. Jean-Pierre sat upright and peered into the darkness.

"Whut in tarnation does yo' reckon thet was? It soun'ed like a large, unnerwater creature who has suddenly become mighty much aware of our presence. Kin yo' see ennythin'?"

Instead of responding, Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo's voice became incredibly hoarse and he warbled about what a gripping, absolutely ripping moment at the Ascot opening day. But then the thought of a shark's rows and rows of teeth gripping and ripping their boat, not to mention their persons, to shreds overcame Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo completely, and he fainted, very manfully, into the bottom of the boat.

The splashing came nearer, and Jean-Pierre sprang to the front of the boat, peering into the water. All of his senses were alert. He knew that the ocean waves were concealing something especially ominous and he was ready to fight, not to the death, but to the pain, if necessary.

As Jean-Pierre peered into the murky depths, he saw, to his utter dismay, something ascending quite rapidly to the surface of the water. It was silver, and even more interestingly, it was ridiculously Brobdingnagian.

What followed was a scene that defies all the descriptive powers of this humble author. Simply know the following facts: the silver Brobdingnagian entity was in fact a great white shark; fists flew, Jean-Pierre's saber slashed through the air, wildly reflecting the light of the silvery moon and the jaws of the shark gnashed together with the cacophony of titanium anvils colliding in harmonic synergy! Within mere minutes, Jean-Pierre dispatched the sublittoral malefactor and the ocean was steeped in its scarlet red blood. Within another few minutes, a feeding frenzy commenced among the other cannibalistic sharks, and Jean-Pierre rowed his boat off to more pleasant waters. It was all very heroic, svelte, and of course, callipygian.

Chapter 9

2009-04-23T16:17:00.001-07:00

The next morning, Jean-Pierre and Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo were cleaning up camp. Jean-Pierre was still shaken from his sighting of his beloved in an air balloon. It had been a fairly unusual experience, and her words still haunted him. Transylvania. A big house in the hills. He certainly would have preferred directions involving longitude and latitude, or maybe a map. And, to be quite honest, her words had filled him with dire forebodings, as if it was fated that he was to meet his glorious and tragic demise at a big house in the hills of Transylvania. Well, if it was to be in order to save his one true love, so be it. He straightened his jaunty beret, and turned courageously to Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo.

The brothers began a long discussion. First, they discussed their shared childhood which was still quite hazy for Jean-Pierre, so Don Felipe indulged himself in a sentimental monologue, musing upon the gilded days of yore, sharing maudlin tales of their childhood vacations in Seville. He glossed over the death of their parents and their subsequent stay at an orphanage in Brussels. Jean-Pierre was astonished to learn that he had an older brother by the name of Thor Ingvar, who had been similarly tattooed and left to face the world as an orphan. "Ah had eh verrrry low opeeenion of heem," mused Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo, "Ahnd frankleeeee, when he rrrran away from zeee orphanage at feeefteen, Ah said, 'good reeeddance.'"

"So when were yo' an' ah separeeted?" asked Jean-Pierre. "Ah pow'ful doesn't remember a thin' other than gittin' mah stable fella trainin' at th' Château de Chenonceau a li'l while ago."

"Ah yes, eet was most trageeec! Ah was adopteeed by zee Guapisimos soon after Thor Ingvar abscohndeeed to who knows wherrrre, and you were adopteeed by a seeemple French couple who worked as carrrrnies."

Jean-Pierre's jaw dropped. "Ah's so'ry, ah doesn't reckon ah heard yo' right. Ju jest say thet mah adoppive parents were carnies?"

"Zat eez corrrrrrrect," said Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo, apologetically, "Ah am sorrrry to beeee zee one to tell you. On zeee bright side, you excehped zat life and are now reunited weet me, and Ah swear zat Ah weeell pledge my life to help you recover your beeeloved." Upon saying this, Don Felipe placed his right hand over his heart and gazed meaningfully off into the distance.

The moment was simply dripping with saccharine nostalgia, so Jean-Pierre pressed on to the next item of business.

"Ah reckon we may haf a logistical problem, dawgone it. Mah ship sunk in th' harbo' an' ah have no way of leavin' this hyar island."

"Zat eez no problem, Juan-Pedro! But auf course, Ah came to zees island een a verrrry large and eeempressive sailing vessel. We weel soon be een hot pursuit!"

Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo rounded up his horses and the two gentlemen returned to the harbor. Much to their dismay, there was no ship to be found. Instead, the harbor was littered with debris; barrels, pieces of torn sails, and tangled pieces of rope drifted forlornly on the water's surface. A lone row boat, likely one of the ship's emergency boats, bobbed listlessly.

The two men stared, dumbfounded at the wreckage, and Jean-Pierre was the first to speak. "We still haf a boat. It will suffice. To be quite honess wif yo', ah's thrilled t'meet this hyar particular challenge."

And with that especially jaunty statement, they headed off towards the horizon in the row boat.

Chapter 8

2009-04-23T16:14:00.000-07:00

Meanwhile back on the beach, Charlotte was becoming quite hungry. It had been some time since she had eaten paper-thin slices of prosciutto ham wrapped carefully around well-ripened sections of Persian melon. It had been ages since she had masticated a touch of Dover sole, sauteed lightly in champagne and butter . . . perhaps with a bottle of Pouilly-Fuisse '59? And after that, a Chateaubriand for two, or make that, four . . . Charred and brown . . . Nay, black on the outside and gloriously rare on the in . . . With the beef, a white asparagus and a bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild '47 . . . And for dessert, an enormous order of fraises des bois . . . served, of course, with globs of heavy cream so thick you can put it on with a shovel!!!

Charlotte gave herself a little shake. She realized she had been gazing perhaps a smidgen too fixedly at the cabin boy, Beady. Beady was gazing perhaps a smidgen too fixedly at Simone Lefevre who sniffed pathetically at some rotting kelp. It was a dismal scene.

For several days now, Charlotte, Beady, and Simone Lefevre had wandered aimlessly along the beach in search of food, water, and rescue. Now they had reached the end of the beach, and there seemed little left to do. They had reached the end, the end, perhaps, of their collective lives. Charlotte had never imagined that she would die on a putrescent beach, covered with rotting kelp, next to a dolphin carcass that she unsuccessfully tried not to look at. The morbidity of the whole situation was too overwhelming. It was truly a dismal scene.

Charlotte rested her head on a nearby rock, closed her eyes, and thought wistfully of Jean-Pierre and his overall penumbra of jauntiness. Beady closed his eyes and thought wistfully of Bob the Frog, his childhood pet; his mother's flowered apron; the smell of pine needles. And Simone Lefevre closed her eyes and thought wistfully of that diamond studded collar she had lost in the jungle somewhere during a hurricane. She really did hate to be deprived of her bling-bling.

"Hello down there!"

A voice interrupted their meditations. A hot air balloon had appeared from behind the hills, and the individual in the basket peered down at the group. The individual tossed ropes from the basket and the trio, suddenly invigorated by the endorphin-inducing sight of possible rescue, pulled the basket to the earth. They all cringed as the basket swiftly flattened the dolphin carcass with an emphatic crunch.

Nonchalantly, the individual stepped nimbly out of the basket. She was very young, short, and mischievous looking. Her name was Calliope and she was on a mission. "Need rescue? Okay. Everyone in." She grabbed Simone Lefevre, and before Simone Lefevre could react, she scooped her unceremoniously into the basket. "Who's next?" She made a move towards Beady, but Beady hid behind Charlotte, and Charlotte stood firm.

"As much as we would like to be rescued, you're in a little too much of a hurry for my taste, dear," said Charlotte, who preferred strict complinace with standard rules of etiquette and decorum.

Introductions were made. Calliope very prettily curtsied in Beady's direction, but he arrogantly ignored her. Charlotte, however, was satisfied that Calliope was a reputable rescuer, although the exact details of why Calliope was in a hot air balloon hovering over an abandoned island entirely escaped her. It was a detail she was not concerned about, however. Within 5 minutes, they were off.

For the first 10 minutes of their journey, Calliope jabbered incessantly in Beady's direction, but he arrogantly ignored her. She went on and on about her parent's house up in the hills of Transylvania, or some such nonsense, and Charlotte was impressed with her own ability to tune the girl's voice completely out.

Simone Lefevre turned out to be extremely acrophobic, and Beady acquiesced to hold her during their journey. Calliope turned out to be extremely narcoleptic, and as the sun set on the oceanic horizon, Charlotte tried not to panic as she took the figurative helm of the hot air balloon. Soon, Beady was sleeping too. Simone Lefevre strutted nervously around in tight circles, her eyelids twitching wildly.

Charlotte could not sleep. She gazed down at the ocean and the small islands they passed by. It was a very still night. Up ahead, she noticed they were coming upon a large land mass and she realized they would be passing very closely by a mountain top. As the mountain top loomed closer, she peered down and realized she could see figures on the mountain top. Travelers on their way to who-knows-where, and horses, and a camp fire, and suddenly Charlotte recognized a particular pair of jaunty guns. With a start, she jumped to her feet and screamed, "Jean-Pierre!!!"

Both of the figures below turned their heads heavenwards, and Charlotte also recognized a jaunty beret, a jaunty mustache . . . all the hallmarks of her beloved.

"Charlotte!!!" shouted Jean-Pierre, who was somewhat surprised to see the woman he loved drifting above his head in a hot air balloon, "Mah love, whut is yo' doin'?"

Frantically, Charlotte tried to figure out how to land the hot air balloon, but waking up Calliope was impossible. In a last desperate attempt, she threw the ropes overboard down to Jean-Pierre, but they were just inches out of reach. As the hot air balloon drifted away from Jean-Pierre, Charlotte cried out from the darkness, "Transylvania! A big house in the hills! Come find me there!"

Jean-Pierre put a hand over his heart. "Ah solemnly vow thet ah will not ress until ah have foun' yo', mah love. Do not despair! ah will see yo' in Transylvania eff'n it is th' last thin' ah do! Fry mah hide!"

Chapter 7

2009-04-23T16:12:00.001-07:00

As Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo raised his sword in salute, Jean-Pierre reflected on how a nice little chat with Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo would quickly resolve this dispute with little or no bloodshed. But such a thought was violently quashed by Jean-Pierre’s general machismo and overall jauntiness. After all, he was a gentlemen and a scholar, and it was not Jean-Pierre’s general practice to avoid a delicious opportunity to defend his courage and honor. He would fight the unbeatable foe! He would run where the brave dare not go!

The two worthy opponents dueled. They slashed. They parried. They riposted. Jean-Pierre executed a Ballestra lunge with such grace and artistry, Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo was momentarily stunned with aesthetic appreciation. But he quickly recovered with a sumptuous Passata-Soto, and followed up with a magnificent Inquartata. Caught off guard, Jean-Pierre returned with a Moulinet so perfect that it would make your irritable old grandmother shed tears of joy.

It continued this way for several hours. By sunrise, the two mustachioed, callipygian gentlemen were hardly breaking a sweat.

By noon, Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo was starting to show some strain. He had, after all, been waiting for Don Miguel Alejandro Velasquez for over a month on the top of a mountain without anything to eat.

At last, Jean-Pierre landed a glancing blow on Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo’s right forearm. Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo crumpled to the ground.

“Ah heet!” exclaimed Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo, his voice muffled in the voluminous folds of his blood red cape, “Ah verrrrry palpable heet!”

As Jean-Pierre helped Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo to his feet, he explained rather tersely the undeniable truth that he was not, in fact, Don Miguel Hoo-Ha-Ha or whatever his name was, but that he was Jean-Pierre from . . . well, come to think of it, he wasn’t quite sure where he was from. For some years now, Jean-Pierre had lived in England. But before that . . . he could remember very little. Due to an untimely blow to the head, inflicted by an unknown source and in an unknown locale, Jean-Pierre had been suffering for several years from a very poetic, and highly convenient, bout of amnesia. All he had was the glorious present and very recent past. He truly did not know who he was or where he was from. All he knew was that he loved Charlotte, and that he must prevail in his quest to find her and rescue her from grave danger, and particularly, almost certain death. He explained all of this to Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo as he helped him to his feet, dusted him off, and sat him down on a nearby boulder.

“Ah should hahve known you were not Don Miguel Alejandro Velazquez,” sulked Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo as he rolled up his sleeve to examine his wound, “Ah could have beaten heem to a pulp weetheen sehcahnds with meeneemal effort. He really eez the defeeneetion of weak sauce.”

He paused, glaring at Jean-Pierre. “And Ah am quite cerrrtain he would not wear such a jaunty berrrrrrret.”

Self-consciously, Jean-Pierre straightened his jaunty beret. But just then, he saw something that caused his eyes to widen, his jaw to drop, and his manly vocal chords to utter an emphatically dramatic gasp of recognition.

On Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo’s arm, slightly above the wound Jean-Pierre had boldly inflicted, was a tattoo of a heart with a ribbon draped languorously across it that said, “I love my mom.” Automatically, Jean-Pierre reached for his own right forearm, to a tattoo of a heart with a ribbon draped languorously across it that read, “I love my mom.” Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo stared, speechless with shock at Jean-Pierre’s forearm which, until that very moment, he had not noticed.

Finally, with manly tears welling up in his formerly piercing and intimidating eyes, Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo, his voice quivering, whispered, “Eeet cannot bee trrrrue, after all deez years! Juan-Pedro, my long lost tweeen, eez eet really you?”

Chapter 6

2009-04-23T16:08:00.001-07:00

As you may recall, when last we saw him, Jean-Pierre was in hot pursuit of Charlotte and her devious kidnappers. However, being that his boat was homemade, it was only a matter of time before the boat sprang a leak and sunk beneath the roiling waves. Even the extreme amount of jauntiness that constantly surrounded our hero could not save the boat.

Fortunately for Jean-Pierre, he was an eternal optimist, and his jauntiness soon returned. Jean-Pierre thanked his lucky stars that the boat was in the harbor at the time, so he didn't have to get his feet wet. With great aplomb, he moved on to Plan B. He resolved that he would first get his bearings and then figure out how to rescue Charlotte. Yes, that sounded like the perfect plan.

Jean-Pierre turned away from the dismal sight of his sail sinking into the deep abyss and turned towards his next challenge: the towering, craggy peak of a nearby mountain. Aha! thought Jean-Pierre, an ideal vantage point.

Without further ado, he began scaling the mountain. Mountain-climbing was one of Jean-Pierre's greatest talents. Scaling a mountain like this would have been a daunting task for your average heroic wanderer in peak condition. But our Jean-Pierre was just that much more amazing than your average heroic wanderer in peak condition. This was simple. This was ridiculously easy. Without breaking a sweat, Jean-Pierre fist-jammed, smeared, and chimneyed his way up the mountain as the sun gradually lowered towards the horizon.

Jean-Pierre was having a glorious time. He was almost to the peak, and the moon was glowing peacefully over the countryside. He was in such delightful spirits, that he was singing very loudly to himself about knapsacks, marching ants, and Bunny Fufu, when he saw something in the moonlight that caused "Edelweiss" to die a tragic death in his throat.

It was a man wearing all black, save a blood red cape. He was sporting a fu manchu and dreads, and brandishing a sword. His name was Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo, his English syntax was first rate, and he was eager to fence.

The two men studied each other in the moonlight, sizing up the fight that would inevitably come.

"Ah ha, so you 'ave come at last!!! Finally, my rrrrrevenge will be complete!!!" Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo shouted.

"Excusez-moi?" gasped Jean-Pierre, as he reverted to his native French in his surprise.

"Don't play coy with ME, Don Miguel Alejandro Velasquez, I won't fall forrr dat treeck agehn!!!

Whipping around, Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo drew out another sword, and tossed it with great panache in Jean-Pierre's general direction. Jean-Pierre was so stunned he let the sword fall to his feet.

"Peek eet up, you cur. Don't mehk me do the dishonorrrable ting and stab you true de 'eart wit out allowing you to mehk a patetic attempt to sehv your wortless carrrrcass!!!"

Listlessly, Jean-Pierre retrieved the sword. It had been some time since he was crowned the European fencing champion. His job as a stable boy didn't really call for that type of skill, surprisingly enough. Still, it was a well-made weapon, and Jean-Pierre was intent upon seeing Charlotte again. If this was just one of the obstacles he was called upon to overcome in order to see Charlotte again, so be it.

Don Felipe Rigoberto Guapisimo raised his sword, the moonlight shining on its ominous blade . . .

*"Bellaco": Rogue, a villain, a swindler, a knave.

Chapter 5 Appendix

2009-04-23T16:07:00.001-07:00

[Editor's Note: After further research, we have managed to uncover a brief excerpt from Chapter 5. While it does absolutely nothing to move the narrative along, it at least explains a bit of why the beast was inspired and salivating on the island.]

Before she was “the beast,” Simone Lefevre lived a quiet life among renaissance-era celebutantes who took luxury vacations to the French Riviera. Simone Lefevre was seen only at the most exclusive parties, in the swankiest digs, and at the poshest locales that most mere-mortals could not even imagine in their wildest hallucinations. In her time, she had rubbed shoulders with the likes of Lorenzo De Medici, Salvador Dali, Jackson Pollock and Prince Rogers Nelson.

Early in her life, Simone Lefevre had been adopted by a certain Ekaterina Romanovna Vorontsova-Dashkova, a ridiculously wealthy socialite who showered Simone Lefevre with bling-bling, bought her only the most fierce haute couture designer clothing, and ensured that Simone Lefevre ate nothing less than the most gourmet cuisine prepared by Simone Lefevre's personal chef, Fabrizio.

Ekaterina determined one summer to sail around the world in her private yacht. She wanted some time to learn to love herself, to cleanse her soul from the taint of being one of the bourgeois, to look through a glass eye, darkly. So she packed up Fabrizio and Simone Lefevre and set sail for the horizon. Six weeks and two hurricanes later, Simone Lefevre found herself alone on an island, a thousand miles from home and very much alone.

Chapter 5

2009-04-23T16:05:00.000-07:00

Editor's Note: After months and months of research and attempting to uncover missing portions of the manuscript, it is with great pleasure that we finally unveil a recovered illustration. Unfortunately, the text of Chapter 5 that accompanied this particular illustration was completely destroyed. From what little we know about the author, it would seem that extreme self-loathing overcame him or her because he or she hated this particular chapter, mostly because, as the illustration shows, he or she was forced to pull a "deus ex machina."

In his or her defense, he or she had painted himself or herself into a corner; he or she clearly did not want to kill off Charlotte or Beady at this point in the tale. But at the same time, he or she was forced to explain why some entity on the island was inspired and salivating, and further, what that entity actually was. As the illustration shows, he or she had only one way, a somewhat pitiable way, to solve the problem.]

Chapter 4

2009-04-23T16:03:00.000-07:00

“YARRRRRGH,” quipped Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy and the yellowed skull under his arm. He was a bit hung-over from the previous evening’s rum-swilling, but despite a pounding headache that he felt quite sincerely in both of his heads, he was feeling preternaturally jovial, perhaps even a bit whimsical. And why not? It was a glorious day! The sun was shining, the wind was strong, his parrot Euripides was especially obstreperous, and frankly, there was nothing Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy loved more than snarling balefully at arrogant, kidnapped noblewomen.
Unfortunately for Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy, Charlotte, despite her pitiful circumstances, did not weep or swoon or throw herself overboard as so many previous captives had been wont to do. The initial shock she had experienced upon first seeing Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy had since died off and she felt nothing but annoyance at being kidnapped and regret that her rendezvous with Jean-Pierre had been so tragically curtailed.

Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy cleared his throats. “Let's get started shall we? You've been abducted for a particular purpose. If you don't meet our requirements, you'll die anyway. Any questions?"

“No.”

“AVAST! We’ve come across a rather run-of-the-mill treasure map which we’ve followed to a particular island somewhere and without giving away too much, apparently the only way to convince the island to yield up the goods is offer an arrogant, kidnapped noblewoman to the beast that resides thereon. We’ve tried to offer previous noblewomen to the island, but I suppose they weren’t arrogant or noble enough. We did our research this time, and were led to your doorstep, as it were. It seems someone has a bone to pick with you.”

“How interesting and yet how uninformative.”

“Fortunately, we won’t have to keep you on board much longer, as we’ve had very good winds.” Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy’s two heads surveyed the sky and the billowing sails above. “We should be there in a few hours. We understand that at this time you might be feeling somewhat anxious about what the next few days will bring. But know that you won’t be alone. We’re also kicking off a diminutive member of our crew.” Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy gestured wildly at a small, round boy that stood among the crew. “That’s the cabin boy, Beady. We thought it might be convenient to have a cabin boy should we ever get stranded somewhere without any food, but he’s proven to be such a dreadful bore that we’ve decided to offer him to the island as well. Like dessert, if you will.”

“How lovely,” said Charlotte dryly.

“YARRRRR. Well, that’s it. Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

Without another word the crew and Captain dissipated, leaving Charlotte and Beady, now tied to a railing, until they arrived at their destination. No words passed between them. In fact, they didn’t even look at each other. Charlotte plotted and planned, Beady gazed at his feet, looking demure. It was then that Jean-Pierre’s pigeon arrived.

Charlotte’s heart swelled with sentiment over the tender missive, and she knew that she would not be eaten by some unknown entity on an island as a human sacrifice to release pirate booty. She knew that her callipygian hero would rescue her before she met an untimely death.
The next morning, the pirates released Charlotte and Beady onto the island as planned, with a promise that they would return in a fortnight. “Not that it’ll matter,” Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy said thoughtfully. A pause. “Because you’ll be dead.” And the pirate ship sailed away.
After a ponderous moment passed between Charlotte and Beady, Charlotte broke the silence. “They were rather cliché, weren’t they?”

Another ponderous moment passed. And then Beady spoke.

“Cliché wasn’t exactly the word I would have used. Perhaps ‘hackneyed.’ Or ‘stale.’ Even ‘uninspired.’ But ‘cliché’? That doesn’t quite capture my intellection of them. But at the root of the matter, I must agree with you: pirates really are SO five years ago.”
As Charlotte and Beady stood on the beach and watched the pirate ship fade into oblivion on the horizon, Charlotte sensed that whatever lurked in the jungle was probably not cliché. Or hackneyed. Or stale.
It was inspired . . . and it was salivating . . .

Chapter 3

2009-04-23T15:59:00.000-07:00

Charlotte awoke in the murky hull of the pirate ship. Her hands were shackled to the wall, but she was able to remove the burlap blindfold that covered her eyes. Using what little light came from cracks in the ceiling, she further noticed that she was sharing her cell with a writhing mass of matted fur that she subsequently realized was a large clan of brown rats. Charlotte simply would not allow her senses or emotions to be adversely affected by vermin. Therefore, she turned away from her cellmates and peered into the ominous gloom of the ship’s bowels and thought wistfully of Jean-Pierre and King Louis, and her estate which was the most handsome estate in all of Europe. She sighed aloud, as she pondered again Jean-Pierre’s touching epistle which she had lost during the brouhaha that occurred shortly before she was blindfolded and led onto the pirate ship.
However, before Charlotte became totally immersed in beautiful tragedy of the whole situation, the hatch opened and Charlotte was effectively relocated to the deck of the ship for the purpose of conversing with the captain whom she had not yet met. Despite being relocated and tied up, Charlotte effortlessly maintained a tangible sense of aloofness and dignity. Dignity, always dignity. Her façade of confidence faded somewhat when she beheld the captain, Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy.
Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy looked like your typical cliché pirate: eye patch, greasy facial hair, an earring or two, multiple tattoos, a peg leg, and a parrot on his shoulder. What Charlotte was not expecting was the grimy, yellowed skull he clutched under left arm. It was certainly not one of those hokey, undersized, plastic skulls that people use for Halloween décor. No, no, this skull looked as if it had been ripped from someone’s shoulders only moments before, after the doer-of-violence had picked and scraped off all muscles, blood veins and other extraneous matter.
The skull’s appearance was not just for show. Almost a year earlier, Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy had a searing pain in one of his molars. Being a firm believer in alternative medicine, Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy decided to pay a visit to the local healer, Pinky Monkeychunks. She advised him that the cure for his illness would require an invasive surgery. The first part of the surgery required that she remove his head and perform experiments on his brain. Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy was unfazed by this procedure, but he was a busy pirate, and simply didn’t have time to do both parts one and two of the surgery during the same visit. As an accommodation, “Doctor” Monkeychunks supplied him with a temporary head during the interim between visits. Also, since she did not require the skull during this phase of the operation, she allowed Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy, at his request, to carry around his own skull until he had occasion to return for the second part of the operation.

For several months, Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy carried around his skull like a bowling ball, with his fingers and thumbs stuck through the eye sockets and nasal passage. Gradually, however, Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy began to hold his skull with a bit more respect, cradling it under his arm by day, and placing it on a silk pillow stolen from a nobleman in France by night. Eventually, he even found himself placing his fingers beneath its jaw, and whenever he spoke, he found that his fingers had an almost compulsive twitch that would synchronize the mandibular movements of his skull and the temporary head that had been affixed to his neck. The effect was eerie, as if the same rasping voice came from two mouths.
This was the sight that Charlotte beheld as Captain Scurvy Legs McCoy began his interrogation of Charlotte . . .
* * *

Meanwhile, back on land, Jean-Pierre had lost no time in planning and executing his pursuit of Charlotte and her nefarious kidnappers. Jean-Pierre’s lack of funds prevented him from chartering a ship to chase the pirates down. His only option, then, was to build his own ship as quickly as possible. As he chopped down trees and built himself a modest vessel, he thought frequently of Charlotte and sincerely hoped that her health was good and that the weather at the ends of the earth wasn’t too frightful. He did not want her to catch a cold.

Jean-Pierre sent word to Charlotte by way of messenger pigeon that he was in hot pursuit. The message was simply: “ah's buildin' a boat t'rexcue yo'. Don't wo'ry about ennythin'. I'll be thar soon, as enny fool kin plainly see. JP.” As Jean-Pierre stood beside his nearly finished vessel and released the pigeon into the great blue yonder, he did not realize that at that very moment, there were other forces at work that threatened to interfere with his valiant and courageous rescue attempt . . .

Chapter 2

2009-04-23T15:56:00.000-07:00

[Editor's note: After extensive preservation and restoration work, we are pleased to present the next installment of Charlotte and Jean-Pierre's epic tale. The cause of the delay was due to the extra time required to restore the two illustrations that accompany this chapter. Our number one priority is presenting the illustrations in a way that the reader may enjoy the true tones and symbols intended by the by the ancient artist, whoever s/he was. We hope you enjoy the artistic pieces that accompany the awe-inspiring text of this timeless story. ]

Time passed. Charlotte thought frequently of the day she met Jean-Pierre and his jaunty self, although she tried not to. She was, after all, a very wealthy and powerful woman who certainly shouldn't be giving two thoughts to a lowly stable boy.

When Charlotte found her thoughts wandering in the direction of the stables, she laughed uneasily to herself, in an attempt to quell her strange fascination with the stables and the interesting entity that lurked therein. However, regardless of her efforts and to her great dismay, she found herself constantly going to the stables for a plethora of absurd reasons: she had lost one of her knitting needles and suspected she had left it in the stables, she was looking for her butler and had surmised that he was mucking out the stables, a guest was cold and the only extra blanket available was the one covering King Louis in the stables.

Charlotte's perambulations to the stable could not be hidden from her servants and guests. While all thought her behavior strange, no one suspected anything was going on. And in fact, nothing WAS going on, other than Charlotte trotting across the yard approximately 50 times a day. Even Charlotte wasn't 100% sure why she felt the compulsion to go to the stables, although she suspected it might have something to do with a jaunty beret. Or perhaps a jaunty mustache. Or even some jaunty guns.

Finally, Charlotte's diligence was rewarded. She was out in the countryside, in an enclosed meadow, rummaging through her saddle bag, looking for her lunch, when her hand closed upon a large, folded document that had been stashed there. She opened it up and her heart leapt with rapturous joy as she read a tender missive from Jean-Pierre.

"Well," Charlotte sniffed after perusing the missive, "English IS his second language." Despite this somewhat anticlimactic response, Charlotte's heart soared with unbounded love for Jean-Pierre as she read his missive again and again. Her eyes brimmed with the tears of the infatuated. She was so emotional, that she didn't realize that Jean-Pierre was striding towards her across the meadow. She looked up. Her breath stopped.

It is somewhat unfortunate then, that on the cusp of this very interesting moment, the foliage around the enclosed meadow exploded with the sounds of coarse laughter and rum-swilling. Out of the foliage stepped a band of dastardly pirates, the scourge of the seven seas. The personal details and backgrounds of these nefarious individuals will be disclosed at a later date. Until then, let it be known that they were exceedingly villainous and vicious miscreants.

With not so much as an "Arrrrrgh," the pirates knocked Jean-Pierre out cold, captured Charlotte, carried her down to the sea, and set sail for the ends of the earth.

Jean-Pierre stood on the shore, and watched, powerless, as the pirate ship sailed away. He vowed to himself, fist raised, in his native French, that he would rescue Charlotte from the dastardly pirates if it was the LAST THING HE DID . . .

Chapter 1

2009-04-23T15:55:00.000-07:00

Charlotte was a duchess in the south of England with the most handsome estate in all of Europe. Due to her excessive wealth, she was able to employ a ridiculous number of "little people" to do the most minute chores. She had one servant to feed her goldfish named King George, one to empty her chamber pot, and one to walk a several steps ahead of her with a broom, to ensure that Charlotte's dainty feet never touched dust, dirt, grime, or any other unmentionable muck. This is only a smattering, to give you an idea of how truly rich and pampered Charlotte was.

Quite frequently, Charlotte took a horse from the stables out for a spin. She told herself (and anyone who would listen) that she only did this to keep the stable workers busy (as they tended to be a shiftless lot). The truth was, however, that Charlotte was utterly bored with life, and even though she took no pleasure at all in riding horses, that activity was much preferable to sitting around, counting her money all day.

On a magical spring morning, shortly after sunrise, Charlotte trotted outdoors in the direction of the stables to have a discussion with the head stable boy about the horses she would require later that day as she was expecting company, and she anticipated that conversation would be somewhat stilted as many of her guests were not on speaking terms, so she deemed it advisable to put them all on horses and tour her handsome estate, thereby avoiding dull conversation and providing an opportunity for Charlotte to gloat over her companions, since she had, unquestionably, the most handsome estate in all of Europe.

Charlotte certainly did not expect to meet Jean-Pierre that day, but destiny had that very thing on the agenda. As Charlotte made her way across the lawn, the early morning sun blinding her, she dimly made out a stranger coming out of the stables, leading one of her finest horses, King Louis.

The stranger was French, that much was evident. But there was something about him that interested Charlotte immensely. It was something almost imperceptible, something so subtle, that Charlotte could not breathe for a split second.

However, Charlotte, not one to be intimidated or impressed by anyone, especially not a stable boy, shook off the feeling of awe, cleared her throat, and ordered the stranger (Jean-Pierre, in case you missed that) in an impressively booming voice to identify himself at once and explain himself, or she would have him drawn and quartered expeditiously.

He did so. She was satisfied, but she couldn't shake a feeling of uneasiness. Perhaps it was foreboding. Perhaps she sensed that their destinies were somehow intertwined . . .

Prologue

2009-04-23T15:53:00.000-07:00

Once there was a girl named Marcia. Marcia was a law student. She had the reputation of being a goody-goody. However, Marcia led a double life. By day, she was a demure young woman, who never spoke unless spoken to; who never cursed or drank; who never gave two looks to any undeserving male individual. By night, Marcia roamed the streets of Moscow, in search of her long lost love, Jean-Pierre. You see, Marcia was reincarnated. In her previous life, Marcia was a duchess in the south of England. Her name was Charlotte and her estate was among the most handsome in all of Europe. Jean-Pierre was her newly instated stable boy. (Although, when I say "boy," what I really mean is, "manly-man-man-man.")