03 March 2007
Rough Riders
March 3rd 1856
So, there we were, riding across the country, me and two commoners who collectively were emitting more foul stenches than the sewer-works on a hot, hot day.
I had to spend most of the journey hanging out of the carriage window, gasping for fresh air. Even though my two companions were on the outside of the carriage, their smells seemed to seep through the roof and cocoon me in a wretched, stinking shell.
It was while I was leaning out of the window that I suddenly noticed another carriage behind us. It was keeping to a slow pace, but then for no good reason at all, it suddenly accelerated and came hurtling towards us.
I drew back into the carriage, retched violently at the ever-lingering odour, then barked my orders.
“Botter! Be a good man and increase the speed, I fear we are being tailed.”
“You what, your lordship?”, the ever-useless assistant enquired.
“For the love of God, man, I said – “
My angry outburst was cut short by an almighty crunch, as the other carriage appeared at our side and rammed us. Annoyingly, this led to me spilling my glass of whisky I had been enjoying.
“By Nelson’s ball-sack, get moving, Botter.”
Botter tugged at the reins, and we lurched forwards, causing the remnants of my delicious whisky to discharge themselves all over my clothes.
“Oh, cocks!” I exclaimed.
I turned to see the other carriage, now lying in our wake, redouble their efforts, and come surging forward once more. I leant forward and rummaged in my travelling bag, until I found my duelling pistol. I always carry a pistol with me, in case I am ever attacked by thugs or hoodlums, or in case any paupers come up to me asking for money.
I leant out of the window to fire some warning shots at our persuers, only to find they were gone. Vanished.
I returned to my seat, and then to my chagrin observed our tormentors at the opposing side of our transport. Through the windows, I could make out what seemed to be a gentleman of Arabic origin, grinning wildly.
I went for my weapon once more, but before I could point and aim, we were once again shunted violently. I dropped my pistol in the fracas, and then before I could collect and compose myself, another bump forced our carriage onto two wheels, and then we were flipped over.
I made a mental note to dock Botter’s pay for his shoddy driving, and then I remember nothing.
Everything went black.
