Part 1

epi With a hey, and a ho, and a heynonny-no, twittered Mr Ryf, as he night-tripped through the orchard.

epiiThen, by gum, a vile voice stopped him dead: One more step and youll be a hylden, a haggersnash or a hurrion

epiii Our hero, Ryf (once upon a time a tomte, now a giant thing) screamed at the sight of a

epivrutterkin. This vision of ugsumness left Mr Ryf completely terrified

epv The rutterkin roxled: You lily-livered giant you strut-speech Ryf, listen closely to this

epviLoran. The rutterkin flicked a switch and the audio hissed: The land of Nors boss, lord, beloved and most ostentiferous

epviiogre speaking: You and your flothery follower are banished from Nor and its beblubbered bogs. We are confiscating

epviiievery apple, orchard and twittering for my commercial conquering of the world. So be gone by a months mirknight or

epixthere will be war The tape stopped. The gubbertushed rutterkin disappeared in a spray of

epxpismire slime as the teary Mr Ryf, all in barlihood, crushed the rudesby rutterkin with his foot!...

epxi Up popped a nosey nose: Oh my, My Ryf. What a feff! Youve made a verjuice of it, roxled his moldwarp mate, And

epxii I hear the rumble of a million sullen-sick rutterkins crambling near. My dearest cowfyne tomte, I fear that

epxiiiwe have less than a month to prepare for a whipping war. Mr Ryf was in such a twee, all a-queachy and feeling guilty

epxivand scraping a boot free of goo, he drumbled, Im such a croudling, a cumberworld. Darling moldywarp, what shall we do?

epxvThe moldwarp quoddled, You must don your tweeds, and your ballop britches (because zips are too vulgar for

epxviBrainbridge). Then, Mr Ryf, you must jog-trot to that crapulous capital of Campshire, and find fearless Followers who...

epxvii will fisticuff. So, at dawn, the tristful tomte and true-penny moldwarp, exchanged farewell fears, then

epxviii a wauling Mr Ryf strode south in tailored tweeds and cocked copataine to the city of witworm fame, mumbling: Googly,

Part 2

epxivgoogly, googly, (thinking of a tucket of a talkie he thought he might have seen). Comforted by such tuzzymuzzy musings

epxvand the red ruly apple held close to his high-lone heart, Mr Ryf set off at a jeopartytrot, in a fluckadrift

epxvito find rutterkin-fighting Followers. But our celibataire was soon in despair, on the rat-run road to Brainbridge

epxviiFor the first flock of followers were a five-wit ferrywhisk of fun frith: a jimp jemima, a jocund jo, a night-tripping

epxviiinanny, a fair-jannocks jester and a buncing bunny. But not a whiffinger or warmongerer amongst them. Ryf stroked his

epxixamulet apple and whispered the words, I cant lead such golden-sweet sequaces on a rutterkin ferd. And, as if...

epxxfrom his Delicious Red, words filled Ryfs unky head: Tally-ho to Brainbridge! There live feisty franions who will fight

epxxifor sure, Without more causeywebs, our welwilly wonder whizzed into Campshire, then took on a wallopy gait at the sight

epxxiiof the grammar-folks gates to Brainbridge. Everyone stared as he galloped through the Gogs, followed by the five-wits

epxxiiiThey tarried at a treating house in Trumpton St, and had a well-thawed game of weety winks. After squopping successes

epxxivRyf sidled out, now disguised as a sizar. He sneaked into Pepys and had pribbles and prabbles with lightfoot libidinists

epxxvand fizgigs whod follow. In gardies cellar, they kissed the cap glavered over Ryfs rutterkin map. Meanwhile in Nor

epxxvithe land shuddered and the moldwarp mewed. Then Ryfs wrinkly apple frightened them all with a hi-frequency fritinancy...

epxxviiA message came through from a Queens College comsci: You can hasten your pace with pigeons; gain 50,000 fighters in a

epxxviiisingle tweetin flight! After a swift meet with the Hugemm Rights, Ryf tied a missive to the writhled leg

epxxixof a flapping tabellarious. It said: Ryf seeks Followers to fight. Meet me at the Wee-wow Tree at greking.

epxxxWakeful Ryf, thru the night, davered in dark-house daymares floating ice, devils smiles, caves of hair, fertile miles

epxxxi scared that just jemmie duffs and gyrovagues might turn up. Meanwhile in Nor the land shuddered and the moldwarp

epxxxiimewed as ruthless rutterkins rumbled towards Spuddlham. At dawn, Ryf ran to Queens, dreading deep-musing doppelgangers

epxxxiiiBut what a surprise, a stirring sight, as the bulldog opened the vomitory. Behind the finely farded feral bird,

epxxxivglad-warbling crowds skipped freely forth, in a coranto towards the Wee-wow Tree. Ryf stood stunned by the sandillions

epxxxvof chucks chaps; and with a glistening eye, spied famous familiars: a fried-bread lover, a hatless joker, mashers and

epxxxvimumpers, a tabernarious trefusis and termagant of a wife; Ryf eyeballed comediographers, college commoners and Lordy

epxxxviioh my, he thought, amidst this fine flurch of followers, I see a particular petanque player, a ruby spam fan, a

epxxxviiiminimus moriarty, Brainbridge bedmakers, verecund Wagner fans, timid transcribblers, a gaudiloquent supporter of

epxxxixfeisty folivores, and woweeee, now I see a Wildean lookalike smiling at me. Oh goodness, such goodness marched

Part 3

epXLtoward the hero, giant and ever-truepenny tomte. Meanwhile in Nor, roisting, shard-borne rutterkins stripped dainty

epXLItrees of Ida Rems, their greylimbed armies oozing frothy phlegms into froglively bogs. And, as Ryfs only apple

epXLIIwhinnied in his waistcoat, a little folky moldwarp was chained and chucked atop a pyre. For recineration, after

epXLIIIweve fired Nor, the rutterkins roared, deaf to a whisper from our mantic moldwarp: There be a tiger-booted tomte

epXLIVwholl make a tittynope of yall, my dears. In Brainbridge, Ryf wiped a tear as his Followers cheered Speech Speech!

epXLVRyf coughed: Uhuhum, then, Tell me my Followers, Which of you shall we say doth love us most (oops by my sword, wrong

epXLVI speech). With tomte modesty, the giant spoke on: Err he today that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother!

epXLVIIHis Followers shuffled closer. Please, Fighters step to the fore, Stretcherbearers to the aft. Swords we shall find

epXLVIIIand onward we will march!' quothered Ryf. There was no oppilation, no lithernesse, no supplosion of feet, as the sweet

epXLIXdetermined crowd did as they were told. Yet, there was an unpredicted force involved as thousands padded aft

epLand only twenty frim Fighters stepped to the fore. Silent in fealtie, his Followers waited. Ryf sighed in the mebby-scales

epLIand wondered what to do. Twenty fighters cant defeat the rutterkins, he knew. Blinking at the quackled giant, the 87000

epLII(plus) perky pacifists smiled from the aft. Ryf reached for his Delicious Red, hoping for advice from his wordpecker mate

epLIIIDearest moldywarp, I fear I too could never raise a sword, whispered the giant, now a disquixotted major general...

epLIVBut Nor was out of range, and things were getting fraught. Moldwarp had cramp atop the pyre and the rutterkins were afire

epLV... Woeful Ryf set up an HQ at the anchor drinkery, and talked with his Fighters of the battle ahead and their weaponry

epLVI...After a nobbler, Ryf unbosomed his core concern, We cant slay mobs of reeky rutterkins with a posy of swords!

epLVII...Then McWallis, a pensiful fighter, placed a calling card on the table as his answer. This is where you must go,

epLVIII ...he whispered. The grimy card read: Nicknackitarian: seller of curiously mixed-up inventions, past present.

epLIX ... from Pullikins to Petards. Yarely, McWallis and Ryf strode, to a darksome door in Kettles Yard to buy weaponry

epLX...Weve no groats, said McWallis. Ryf, the giant smiled. No worries, he chuckled, mellifluously. I pocketed a shiny

epLXI...card. Fie Ryf, you buffoon! Youll be in the stocks someday soon, replied the nimmers mate. Through the squeaky

epLXII...door they walked. In the shops gloom, a snogly geard fellow (the nicknackitarian) tipped his hat (a deerstalker)

Part 4

epLXIII..., and while Ryf exchanged grins and greetings with the ebrious aproneer, McWallis found the weapon he was seeking...

epLXIV ...Just the trick, said McWallis. One of my inventions, from many moons ago. Skybosh! quarked Ryf, rather rudely,

epLXVIts just an empty book, not even an abcedary! Indeed the damp dimpled casing held just a wodge of pockmarked parchment

epLXVIWoot weep?' asked McWallis. Do not. We shall make a weapon of this yet, or you can call me a maidenmaker! The

epLXVIIbousy seller popped the book in a bag. For Ryf, he put in a free pair of Persian slippers and peccable pipe

epLXVIII To exalt the mind, dear man, said the giants pipe-smoking, trinkling fan. Then Ryf McWallis to the Anchor ran

epLXIXSmoke rose in the northeast from fiery rampallion rutterkin feasts. Dizzy with distress for his moldwarp in Nor, Ryf got

epLXXsick on sicer. But as he sucked on the pipe and twiddled his softly slippered toes, he was no longer temulent, but wiser

epLXXIMcWallis, my man, the game is afoot! What answer lies in that free-given book? If we miscarry, Nor will quob, called

epLXXIIRyf through the pub. Shush yor roozles, this is no shilling-dreadful, McWallis replied, tossing the book on the table

epLXXIIIFrom there it bounced into the giants lap. Lordy, my tinkering works! grinned McWallis. This will be our birdsnie

epLXXIV, our blore of a bomb! The books dimples were gone, its edges rounded, the whole was now rolled, tight as a banderol

epLXXVLets quother of it to your Followers, said the potvaliant inventor, Theyll fuel this crackling cosaque with

epLXXVIWith charactery from concupiscent mortals, interjected Ryf, musing upon tomte tales of scrabbled silver signatures,

epLXXVIIand facinorous words exploding like fairie dust. The plan was set and Ryf ran ahead, into the night with their weapon

epLXXVIIIThereabouts the Wee-wow Tree, Ryf fimmled his homely apple-john, fearing his Followers would be flarting or gone

epLXXIXBut there was a crowd having fun, by gum. Such a hurly-burly, a ferlie, all greeting Ryf with ale aeipathy, on on

epLXXXOur bawcock, Ryf, begged the throng, I need your words for a bouncing bomb. Witwright followers, please scrawl here

epLXXXI bethumpt the rutterkins with witsnapper spears. Save all in Nor, my dear moldywarp prhaps the world. Now, unfurl

epLXXXIIthe parchment here. Scabrous sceptics, a bigot of the year, cronked at all who ran tantivy, to sign the greenhorned

epLXXXIIIgenerals book. Ryf dared not look at the scribblings of his weety winks kin, Hugemm mates, frim fighters, pacifists

epLXXXIVand the wilde antinomian. Thoughts of nightshade words now plagued him. Weeping-ripe, Ryf rowned, Once the battles done

epLXXXVwhat will I become? a fool? fustilarian? a hero or a Gilbertian? Oh my Once farced with a foison of foaming words,

epLXXXVIthe tome and its secrets were furled. And the hody-moke crowd drank a toast, as Ryf was led to an unknown aerodrome

epLXXXVIIRoaring like ceraunoscopes, merlin-powered flying machines waited. Ryf flies? smiled McWallis. The giant nodded,...

epLXXXVIIIhaving faith in his gadfly glee-dreams as a tomte. Begoggled, Ryf pushed the throttles. Deep in the belly of the

epLXXXIXcraft lay the boudic bomb of rutterkin destruction. Ryf rose into the vacivity, singing bravely http://tiny.cc/2rckh

epXCThe sky cracked. Our airgonaut dived into the enemy flak. No more mammering! Ill save Nor and my moldwarp, batterfang

epXCIthose knavish cullions with this beastly bomb! Ryf flicked a switch. The book was released just as his craft was hit

epXCIIand exploded. In the bogs below, the bomb bounced, while our giant nepheliad floated earthwards. Bethumpt by sods and

epXCIIIwappered by fire, Ryf flopped in a field of wet wooze. Spanwhengled near Spuddlham, he lay in a daze listening for the

epXCIV...explosion. Then a flip and a flap, and the book landed on Ryf's lap, fizzing. From the mist, scuttled scabious scaly...

epXCVlickspittles. Bearing tinder scythes, ledgers knives, ranks of red-eye rutterkins fleerd at him. The Elder, an ogre

epXCVIpoked the parchment with a mort-headed mace, Ha! your bletcherous bomb fantastical followers have failed you!

epXCVIIRyf raged, Read it! I dare you! then maffled an aside, Now Im fated to share a rutterkin grave, dug with senticous

epXCVIIIsentences. Cullions claws unrolled the book. All amort, Ryf stood to the fore, ready to fall in flames of fulmination

epXCIXThe ogre read. Yet no fiery blasts. To his army he said: Close it. We must retreat to the Ratican. Ryf cannot be violated.

epCPeace. Mirknight. Then oh joy! Dear moldwarp from the clods arose! Such croodlings catchings-up in the softly falling snow

epCIRyf stroked the scroll, Why didnt the words explode, poppet? Ah, look here! Your Followers mistook the purpose of it

epCIISee here, their quills bled not with war or rutterkin protests for every tweet twifable is a wuzzle of affectionosity

epCIIIAnd Ryf, this applausive passion you inspired rid us of the rutterkins, without the loss of life! My igniparous angel

epCIV,your sweet power is truly heart-quaking, sighed the minnock moldywarp. Now tarry no more, my prickmedainty tomte, for

epCVwe must daff all be off home for monsterful drynkyngs. Faustian friends are waiting. Danseyheaded drumbled, the

epCVIpair joined the carousing crowd. But murklins, Ryf crept from his fervent Followers the cataglottisms of fluffy fans

epCVIIto fret upon his Followers: How to I lead? What do they eat? A flower fell in Ryfs lap our dinkum tomte gazed about

epCVIIIThere at his back was the Wildean chap, smiling and tipping his hatStarrified ecstasiated, and no longer bajulating,

epCIXRyf picked up the rose, adjusted his clothes and into the lief crowd he strode, knowingly, beautifully, bursting with

epCXunked and unutterable love. Now a follower himself (of the Wildean man) the tweetable road looked blissfully good. THE END