Towards new goals

Chapter 24. Singeing the Beard. The quartet trudged down the time tunnel in silence. Each was lost in his own thoughts. ÖffliBöffli was thinking about how close they had come to leaving their heads in a basket under the guillotine. Forward, or rather downward, they went at a leisurely pace. Out of nowhere, a massive iron ball came clattering through a shattered door. The door had been splintered into smithereens. Not a single piece was large enough to carry a date. Kalle Kanon studied the iron ball, and with his highly trained artillery eye, identified it as 36-pound cannonball. "Someone nearby is firing a very powerful Kanon for whatever purpose. Let's go through the door and find out what's going on,'' Kalle Kanon said, excited at the prospect of seeing the enormous Kanon and perhaps meeting some healthy action. That grade of Kanon was not something one encountered every day. After some consideration and discussion, they decided to venture through the time warp. They emerged onto a flowery meadow which sloped gently down toward the sea. A mighty full-rigged warship lay out off shore. All her Kanon ports were open. From them issued puffs of black smoke. "Throw yourselves to the ground! NOW!'' yelled Kalle Kanon. ''That ship is firing at us!" All four of them dropped to the ground and tried to make themselves as small as possible. A second later, cannonballs whizzed over their heads and landed further up the meadow. Large pillars of earth exploded high into the air where the cannonballs had struck the ground with heavy thuds. Then they noticed that large canvasses had been erected. On them had been painted an array of fighting sailing ships. "False alarm! Relax! They're just having target practice'', Pelle Pistol assured them and as he stood up. "Yes, they sure need the practice," growled Kalle Kanon. ''They're miserable artillery men. Poor shots." "Let's move along and try to find out where we've landed,'' said ÖffliBöffli, taking the lead. They came upon a country road winding between green knolls and fields of swaying crops. After a while, they met a farmer leisurely driving a hay wagon pulled by a team of oxen. The old man stopped and stared suspiciously at the four in front of him. "Who are you?'' the farmer asked sourly, displaying the remnants of a set of very bad teeth. ÖffliBöffli introduced himself and his friends, and asked, "What country is this?" "That's the dumbest question I've heard in years. You are in the realm of Her Majesty Elizabeth the First, our glorious Gloriana, Queen of England, the world's only real country. Which country, indeed! There is no other,'' the farmer snapped sourly. ''His bad teeth presumably cause him severe digestive problems, which would explain why he's so sour,'' muttered ÖffliBöffli. "One last silly question, if you please. What year is this?'' he added. "You really are a numskull! It's the year of our Lord 1588. And before you ask any more scatterbrained questions, this is the road to Plymouth, the world's biggest naval base,'' the farmer replied, as he spat onto the road and urged his oxen forward. ''Delightful fellow,'' said Pelle Pistol. They continued down the dry, dusty road. The day was sunny and bright. ''The exact opposite of the tunnel. How wonderful!'' said Unka Duncas. Soon, they were so parched in the heat, that their tongues felt like shoe leather. Luckily, after the next bend in the road, they saw in the distance a modest little building displaying a sign that swayed gently in the mild breeze. It was not easy to read the sign from so far away, but Pelle Pistol, with his sharp vision, croaked in a parched voice, "It's an inn. Thank goodness.'' As they drew nearer, the sign announced, "Halfway Inn". They entered the premises. It was empty, but for elderly, one-legged man wearing a black eye patch over his left eye and a large brass ring in his left earlobe. On the armrest of the rocking chair in which he sat, perched two colourful birds. They screeched at the newcomers for disturbing the peace. "Welcome, gentlemen, to the Halfway Inn,'' greeted the man, struggling to rise from the rocking chair. He hobbled with some difficulty on his pegleg and positioned himself behind the bar. "My name is Henry Morgan, owner of this fine establishment. What can I do for you gentlemen?'' he asked cheerily. "Do you have cold ale?'' Kalle Kanon asked. "Oh yes, I most surely do'', replied the old man, and in a jiffy swung four foaming tankards onto the bar. They all downed their drinks thirstily and with a clunk, all four empty tankards were slammed back onto the bar. The glasses were refilled to the brim. No one protested. "I once was a pirate, a buccaneer, a corsair or whatever you fancy to call me. Terror of the Seven Seas, they called me. I've taken a lot of gold and treasure, but spent most of it on women and gambling,'' the old man related. "Well, sir, you certainly look like a pirate even though you're retired. The only thing missing, is a colourful parrot on...