How The Moon Became Strange – A Right Ripping Yarn (Part The First)

Editor's Note:- This tale was amongst many of the writings left behind by Squire Kirk The Elder following his mysterious vanishing (see The Furry Doom for more information). Many have poured scron (and even scorn) on the good Squire's writings but although he was called many things during his lifetime (womaniser, dipsomaniac, Satanist, occasional player of the pink oboe), liar was not one of them*.

We present here for your edification the Squire's tale of how the moon became strange. Further tales will be released from the Kirkian Archive in due course.


Part The First - A Chance Encounter

The day began like many others - I was reclining in my preferred fireside position at the Old Actonian Gentlemen's Club, allowing Hardiman to ensure that my brandy glass never reached dangerously low levels, when I espied an old friend lurking in the recesses of the room.

"What ho, Professor!" I roundly hallooed and watched as the figure of Professor Motelonius Edgington-Bickley weaved his shifty way towards me. As you will recall, the Professor and I had shared several capers and escapades together and I had come to have a grudging respect for the man (despite him being of a swarthily temperamental Mediterranean ancestry).

"Squire K," replied he, "Good to see you out and about again. I take it that you managed to clear up that unpleasant business with you and the nun?"

I harrumphed noisily and swiftly diverted the course of the conversation into calmer waters.

"What brings you to these parts, Prof M?", I inquired (not out of any real sense of interest, you understand, but because it's the sort of thing a chap does). "New inventions to dazzle and excite us?"

"It is well you should ask, my friend," replied said Professor, "for I have discovered an entirely new element - an element which I shall name Motelonium so that my staggering genius may live on in history". A surprisingly modest statement for him and I have to admit that my curiosity, if not exactly piqued, was at the least very gently prodded.

"That's all well and good, old fruit, but what's that got to do with the Old Boy's Club, eh?"

"I have need of funds and assistance for an experiment which change not only the very face of science itself but also our very perception of the world!", exclaimed he, wading into more familiar hyperbolic waters.

"Well, I've got a free slot this afternoon...", I drawled and, so saying, sealed my fate.

If only I'd booked that game of backgammon with Carruthers instead...



To Be Continued




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* At least, not to his face, anyway