adventure – Dissatisfied Bruce, Author

Author’s Note: I humbly submit June’s edition of Cait Gordon’s 2020 Flash Fiction Challenge, featuring Parliament Hill as this month’s setting, the object is a pill bottle, and the genre is historical fiction – all in 1000 words. Thanks for reading and enjoy! Note: The city of Ottawa was founded as Bytown in the 1820s. Parliament Hill didn’t exist then as it is today, but the Barrack Hill Base did in its place.

Harold stood at the ship’s bow staring over the open water. The wooden dragon head, attached to the front, bobbed up and down in the rolls of the waves, and the rhythmic splashes of the oarsman echoed behind. The westward trek up the Ottawa River had been exhausting. With wind directly to their front, they couldn’t rely on their sail.

Harold’s long flowing beard and braided pig tails blew astern. At least his horned helmet stayed on his head. Content on his first journey, he dipped his fingers in a small leather purse attached to his belt and retrieved a small bottle, stopped by a cork. “Adrenal Nucleoprotein Tablets, take two a day.”

“Not sure what Colonel By will use them for. Too bad Doctor Smith came down with the clap. He would’ve loved the trip.” thought Harold.

A fortress on a hilltop signaled their arrival in Bytown. Harold bounded to the stern.

“Magnus,” he barked, “we’re within a league of Barrack Hill. Reduce speed for docking.”

Like Harold, Magnus wore a horned helmet and heavy furs, and yelled the order to the crew. The longboat slowed.

Bang!

Sploosh!

“What on…” yelled Harold. ”They fired a cannon at us!”

“There’s the entrance to the new canal,” Magnus replied. “It should shelter us from the fortress’ cannons. Crew, full speed ahead.”

Cannonballs rained on either side of the vessel.

“Magnus, know what these are for?” He showed him the pill bottle.

“Why should I care now? We’re in the heat of battle! Oarsmen! FASTER, like your life depended on it.”

After a tense minute, Magnus turned the helm hard to port and the crew slowed the ship gracefully into the inlet. Harold had never seen anything like it, but in the distance steps of the lock appeared that would take his ship down the canal. They needed to come to a dead stop because the lock-master had to lower their ship and open the gates to continue them their journey. He wasn’t around.

“Why did they shoot at us?” asked Harold.

Magnus hopped off the boat with rope in hand and tied the ship down to a cleat and ran to the front. A crewman tossed him a line and he repeated the process before returning.

“Maybe it was a mistake?” said Harold.

“They must’ve thought we were Americans attacking them,” said Magnus.

“Do we look like Americans?” said Harold pointing to his horned helmet. “Besides, the doctor told me he alerted Colonel By of our arrival.“

A bugle sounded from the top of Barrack Hill and a garrison stormed out of the fortress.

Magnus grabbed a two-handed axe. “Ha-ha! We’re in for it now! I’ve been waiting for this moment for nearly a year!”

“What?” said Harold. “When I signed up to join the North American Nordic Society last week, I didn’t think I’d be risking my life!”

“You’re not serious? We live for this stuff! A big part of what we do is historical re-enactments. Look at the men! They’re all primed and ready to go!” The crew had grabbed their axes. “Man, Doctor Smith must be regretting missing this! First one he’s missed in years!”

The crew charged off the ship and ran towards their assailants on the hill. Their blood curdling screams made Harold’s hair stand stiff on the back of his neck.

“Praise be to Odin!” Before Harold could reply back, Magnus leapt off the boat to join the others.

Harold stayed behind and observed the vikings and soldiers having a bally-good time fencing and sparring with their weapons. He never learned in history class of a Viking-British battle that involved muskets and axes, but it didn’t bother his shipmates. Next time, he’ll be sure to bring a weapon.

He fingered the pill bottle again. He had his mission. Nervous, Harold walked forward into the sea of clanging weapons with his hands in the air.

A soldier stopped his sparring. “Why aren’t you fighting?” he asked.

“I have something for Colonel By, may I see him?”

“He’s a busy man. What business do you have with him?”

“I have his Adrenal Nucleoprotein tablets from his doctor,” said Harold shaking the pill bottle, “who asked me to deliver it.”

“Doctor Smith not here? Too bad! He would’ve loved this! I’m Captain Johnson. We are all field engineers working on the canal project. This town is so boring that we welcome some fun from the Society. Hope you didn’t get too scared with our cannon welcome! We need some target practice, ha-ha.”

They walked up the hill together to the fortress. Johnson introduced Harold to Colonel By.

“Your pills sir, as prescribed by your physician.”

“Thank goodness,” said Colonel By. “With this bloody canal project, we’ve had so many delays and cost overruns, I thought I’d die of a stroke. You know, we built this thing to protect us from an invading American force. Doubt that’ll ever happen now. And my reward for my efforts? A nagging headache and missing all the fun outside.”

He read the instructions on the pill bottle and pulled the cork at the top of it without success. “Damn, can anyone open these things?” He smashed the bottle on the edge of a table and picked some pills in between the small shards of glass.

“Ah, much better,” the colonel said swallowing a handful. “Now, Harold. For giving me the relief from my aches and pains, how would you like to take your fine vessel I see tied in my lock on an inaugural sail down my canal tomorrow? Before it even opens up to the public.”

“I’d be honoured. Can I wear my horns?” said Harold.

“But of course, I too am part of the Nordic Society.”

The following morning, Harold, the crew, and Colonel By wearing his viking helmet, navigated the locks to begin their 200 kilometre trek to Kingston. The first of many voyages boaters would take along the Rideau Canal.

Viking Siege © 2020 Bruce Gordon. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles and reviews. For more information, contact Bruce Gordon.

Author’s Note: I humbly submit May’s edition of Cait Gordon’s 2020 Flash Fiction Challenge,‘ featuring an fandom expo as this month’s setting, the object is a silken garment, and the genre is action-adventure – all in 1000 words. Thanks for reading and enjoy!

Jack’s sixteen. For his birthday, Ma bought him a much wanted ticket for the Fantasy Filmgoers Fan Expo.

Gieselle Copenhagen, a woman he’d been crushing on for years, was the featured guest. He’d also get a free autograph and photo with her.

Giselle starred in the hit TV program, The Cursed Bow, where she played an elvish princess, Lura Liarel. Jack watched the show religiously, and designed a costume of Gorwin Yellen, a peasant who loved Lura. Tall and thin, Jack’s long prematurely greying black hair helped him look the part.

On the day of the FFFE, Jack realized his mother hadn’t done the laundry.

“Ma!” he yelled. “I’m out of underwear!”

“Why don’t you wear those boxer shorts Granny sent you for your birthday.”

“But Ma, I’ve never worn boxers before! I can’t wear them with my costume, either! Put a load on now!”

“I’ve got a life, too. You’re going to have to try them or wear nothing.”

Not fancying going commando in leotards, Jack opened his top drawer and opened the box of boxers.

Hmm, he thought, red silk. He tried them. Ooh, these make me feel sexy. I’d love to show these to Giselle. Before he could indulge a deep fantasy, he noticed the time and dressed in his costume. Luckily, he had a pair of leggings to wear under the leotard to hide the shorts. A little baggy, around the waist, but it works.

Jack grabbed a black-stringed necklace with pewter amulet of a tree growing from a crescent moon. Gorwin had spent the last two seasons searching for this magical talisman. Lura sent him on a quest to secure it to prove his love to her. The object’s powers would bring peace to her war-torn kingdom. Jack put on the necklace, shouldered his backpack, and left.

The moment he hit the street, a whoosh whistled by his ear. He jumped out of his skin. Behind him, in the distance about fifty yards away, stood a man clad in black leather armour and hoodie wielding a bow. He drew another arrow from his quiver. Jack was unarmed, unlike most suburban American teens, and he bolted in the opposite direction.

Approaching the end of his street, another bowman appeared, dressed identically to the first. He drew, and Jack turned between two houses. The leotard made for uncomfortable running, and the silk boxers created a wedgie effect. He entered the backyard and in discomfort, squeezed his buttocks. On his next step, he bounced twenty feet in the air, and cleared a hedge separating two properties. He released his grip and landed softly on the other side.

He continued to the street. Three more arrowed men were in hot pursuit. Jack clenched his fanny again feeling the smooth silk in his crack, and boinged. This time he was propelled thirty feet forward with each step. It created separation from his assailants, and he bounded to the stop where a bus waited. Last on, the bus pulled away and Jack looked out the window. A dozen more dark bowmen quit their pursuit.

Jack subtly grabbed the boxers from his crevice and relaxed.

What on earth did Granny buy me?

Jack joined the line of orcs, goblins, and trolls outside the convention centre to enter FFFE. A school bus approached, and a pack or the sinister men in black exited with military precision. They goose-stepped in rank towards the back of the building, bows drawn.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. These must’ve been a group cosplaying as the Soldiers of Fengalla, the personal guard of his love, Luna’s, enemy. King Aimon would’ve been a great costume, thought Jack noticing a young man in the crowd dressed in this character. I could’ve joined the soldiers!

The crowd moved at a snail’s pace among the vendor booths. Jack wanted to buy a Funko-Pop of his love, but didn’t want to dish out fifty bucks for it. He waited forty-five minutes to pay ten dollars for a butterbeer. Man, this stuff tastes like ass!

He proceeded to the autograph area and found the line-up for his Giselle. He saw her at the table, smiling and signing photos for fans. His heart melted. It won’t be long until he’s united with his love.

People screamed. The dark army stormed into the room and bulled their way to the front, surrounding Giselle’s table. From the crowd, King Aimon emerged.

“Lura, this is your last chance. If you don’t forfeit your kingdom to me, I will execute you here and now, and your father will suffer a slow and painful death in my dungeon.”

Something silky snuck up Jack’s crevice, and he squeezed my keister tight. Instinct took over and Jack jumped over the crowd and landed on Lura’s table. The crowd erupted in cheers.

“Gorwin, you succeeded!” said Lura. “You brought me the Talisman of Unification. Give it to me quick.”

Jack handed the necklace to her. She placed it around her neck, and it glowed. The evil king petrified.

“We have to leave, now,” she said.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, and Jack squeezed my derriere tight, and jumped over the crowds in a shower of airborne arrows. They erupted in applause. With another bound, Jack jumped over a curtained partition where other actors were waiting in privacy.

“That was amazing Stephen,” said Giselle. “They absolutely loved it!” She kissed Jack’s cheek and he swooned. “Wait a sec, you’re not Stephen!” She referred to the actor who played Gorwin.

“No, I’m Jack, I’ve loved you for so long.”

“But Jack, how were you able to leap over the people like that?”

“I think it’s something to do with my underwear my granny bought.” he said. “Wanna see them?”

“Uh, no, but great show!”

The king emerged in jeans and FFFE shirt. “That was a great performance G, want to grab some drinks?”

“Love to!”

The two exited the building arm and arm, leaving Jack alone.

He didn’t get her autograph, but he’ll never wash his face again.

The Cursed Bow © 2020 Bruce Gordon. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles and reviews. For more information, contact Bruce Gordon.