POTATO MOON, Part 39: “Storming the Castle” by Chris Magnano

potato_moon“Who was that?” Yukon Gold asked as Edwood put his phone away.

“Moo?” Jakob seconded.

“Um, that was my step father.  I like him to keep tabs on me.  We have a rather special relationship.”  Edwood shrugged his shoulders the merest fraction of a centimeter to demonstrate his nonchalance.

“Good for you,” Yukon said.  “All the women must really adore that–they must think your dad’s paternal instincts will make you an ideal candidate to sire their children.”

“Indeed.”

“It must make that chick of yours swoon.  What’s her name, Bea or something?”

“It is Bela, and yes, she does.  Something is another matter altogether.”

“Moo.”  Jakob moaned, wishing this were about him and not Bela swooning for Edwood.

“He’s right,” Yukon misinterpreted.  “We need to figure out how to get inside.”

Edwood picked up the thread, in order to help declare the plot to the whole world.  “In order to transform Jacob into another, non-were-cow form, and. . .”

“And obtain the One Onion Ring to Rule Them All from Master Magus Mario Batali of the Organic Order of Gardeners.”  Yukon inhaled deeply to catch his breath.

“Moo,” Jakob added.  Edwood and the Potatoe King glanced at him in confusion.

Not one to let a good monologue / plot synopsis be interrupted, Yukon picked up where he left off.  “Which is why we’re hiding behind some strategically placed bushes in front of the door to Mario’s Castle.  But the gate is protected by guards armed with crossbows.”  He glanced at Edwood.

Edwood struck a pose so the light could glint off his eyes in a menacing manner, and asked Yukon, “How many do you think you could take?”

Yukon was confused.  “The guards?  I can handle this.”

Edwood’s eyebrows raised a hair in alarm, but before he could react, Yukon stood up, and spread his arms.  “Hello,” he called to the guards.  “I am the Potatoe King.  I’d like to see your Master.”

Two guards stepped forward, glanced at each other, and swung their crossbows directly into Yukon’s gut.

“Your Princess is in another castle,” one said, and he kicked Yukon in the head, sending him flying off of his feet to land back in the bushes.

“That went well,” Yukon said, trying to recover his dignity.

“Why’d they say Princess?  We asked about a Master.”  Edwood was confused, a sentiment Jakob readily identified with.

“Didn’t you know?  Mario is actually a woman.  But she prefers to go by ‘Master’ rather than ‘Mistress’ since ‘Mistress’ sounds like a Lady of the Night.”

What happens to a Lady of the Night during the day, Jakob wondered to himself.

“We need another plan,” Edwood said, trying to commit to the narrative.

“Moo,” Jakob agreed.

“Well, surrounding them is out,” Yukon quipped.

“Moan,” Jakob groaned as only a cow can.

“I have an idea,” Edwood began.  Jakob looked at him hopefully.  This had to be better than any of Yukon’s ideas.  “I remember hearing about this guy who called himself The Dread Pirate Wobarts.  He needed to rescue his true love and get into the castle, so he and his buddies lit themselves on fire and scared away the guards, screaming ‘I AM THE DREAD PIRATE WOBARTS AND THERE WILL BE NO SURVIVORS!’  Everyone ran away except the henchman with the key to the portcullis and they gained entry.”

“That might work.  But how do we light ourselves on fire without being burned alive?”  Yukon wrestled with the problem.

Edwood’s lip twitched, which on another face would have been a scowl.  “My people have these cloaks so that we are not burned alive.”  His brow furrowed microscopically.  “That is why we aren’t jumping around like hot potatoes whenever we have to wade through fire.”

“Hot potatoes?  Where?  What’s her name?”  Yukon looked around.

“My apologies.  Pardon the expression.”  Edwood struck another pose, one designed to reinforce the concept that he had just come up with a brilliant idea that should be eagerly adopted by all parties involved.

His search for the sexy potatoe sated, Yukon returned mentally to the current situation.  “Okay, Woody-boy,” he said, and reached out to strip Edwood.

“Watch where your hands roam, sir,” Edwood admonished him.  “I can remove my own cloak.”  As for the other way around, well. . .  It had been a long time since he had scrubbed potatoes, feeling the dirt wash away to reveal eyes staring back with longing, their gruff exterior covering succulent, white flesh. . .

Edwood forced himself to focus on the task at hand, and gave Yukon his cloak.  Edwood smiled smugly to himself that he was a much better brooder in the cloak than Yukon.

“Moo,” Jakob cut in.  He didn’t like being ignored.

“Oh, yes, how shall we create fire?  Do you want a lightning bolt?”  Yukon was ready to pull off his Zeus impersonation which involved shoving a lightning bolt up Someone’s áršë when Edwood held up a match.  “I’ve got it covered.  Now get.”

“I think you mean git,” Yukon commented.  Jacob snorted as the Potatoe God mounted Jakob the erstwhile vampire-çûm-trusty steed.

“Light me!” Yukon proclaimed, and Edwood struck the match on his teeth to show how cool he was, lighting his black-as-death cloak.  Jakob ambled forward wishing the cloak was longer and covered more of his flank while Yukon called out in a booming voice, “I AM THE DREAD PIRATE WOBARTS AND THERE WILL BE NO SURVIVORS.”

The guards acted in alarm, jumping up from where they were lounging and shouted in surprise, pointing at the spectre approaching them.

Yukon grinned hungrily.  This was a much better plan than the last.  Victory was his!

Yukon’s nose twitched.  It was sending his starchy brain signals that his ego had been ignoring for too long.  As the realization slowly dawned on him like twilight on the day, the guards drooled, salivating at the prospect of the fully prepared meal coming towards them.

Yukon’s olfactory sense finally reached his brain with the urgent message of the smell of baked potato and cooked meat.  He looked down to see his chest ablaze, tongues of fire searing Jakob’s flesh (perfectly medium rare).  Yukon tore the cloak off, and threw it at the dumbfounded guards, who either caught fire or fled.

Jakob was mooing in agony, bucking to try and dislodge the Baked Potatoe God (who really doesn’t need any more aliases).

Edwood ran from hiding, quickly patting down Jakob’s body to extinguish the flames.  He punched Yukon, who hit the ground hard.  Edwood stopped his frantic attempts to smother Jakob’s heat.  “I broke a nail.”  Jacob mooed, relieved that his fire was out before Edwood had become distracted.

“You gravy-lover, what did you do that for?” Yukon was fuming, or maybe they were merely ashes and dying embers.

Edwood’s composure had returned, so he wore it to make up for his singed cloak.  “My mistake.  I guess I am the one that is fireproof and not my garment.”

Yukon scowled, and then sighed.  He snapped his fingers and instantly his ashen chest was its normal russet color.  “Well, your plan worked after a fashion.  Let’s continue our quest!”

Jakob mooed, and hoped that he wouldn’t be as burnt when he changed forms again.  He followed his two companions into the castle, leaving behind a cow pie whose odor ought to discourage any foolhardy pursuit.  After all, they were on a quest.

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