It has been a while since I last promoted ‘The Abduction of Wetpatch Wilson’ which is the fourth book in the Hamster-Sapiens series. So here’s a snippet from it…
It was several hours later, and the S.S Bargebutt’s motors still whined horribly under the strain of maximum revolutions, as the crew urged the vessel to ever greater velocity. Perineum was far in their wake now, but the uncertainty of the vastness of the impending volcanic eruption caused many a rodent to pray to the Saint of All Hamsters (or whatever deity they believed in), and to periodically run to the toilet. Naturally this included Wetpatch who now sat perched upon the ‘throne’ in a cubicle beside one in which Professor Desmond’s anus could be heard squeaking nervously.
“Do you think Tutu will be alright?” Wetpatch called through the thin plastic-like partition that separated him from the local genius. “His submarine seemed awfully small. If he gets caught in the shockwave – I’d hate to think what will become of him: Mincemeat probably.”
Professor Desmond Squealch wasn’t known for emotional outbursts, so it came as quite a surprise to Wetpatch when he yelped, in a high-pitched voice that wouldn’t have put the earlier Wetpatch to shame, “Oh Tutu, what have I done? Oh my beloved Tutu. I acted so rashly. I should have sedated you instead of sending you off upon a fool’s errand that was almost certainly doomed to failure. You couldn’t find your way out of a paper bag – let alone across the endless expanse of ocean to Hamster Britain. I expect you’re going around and around in circles as I speak – all confused, but stoic. And now you are going to die – and you won’t even know what’s hit you. It’s so unfair. If only my nephew – Horatio Horseblanket – were here: He’d know what to do. And even if he didn’t – he’d come up with some fur-brained scheme to save the day!”
Wetpatch had actually stopped listening once he realised that the most brilliant scientist in all Hamster Britain had become maudlin: But the mention of the local hero – Horatio Horseblanket – pricked up his ears more readily than the twanging of a broken bra strap. It also gave him an idea…
“Professor,” he ventured gingerly, “I may only be a formerly insolent school-hamster, but I have a brilliant idea that might interest you.”
Reigning in his emotions, Professor Desmond responded with, “Whoopie for you: What is it?”
“Well,” Wetpatch began as he instantly warmed to the role of surrogate Horatio, “I’ve read both volumes of your nephew’s autobiography…”
“The Horatio Horseblanket Chronicles?” Desmond interrupted – his spirits rising in anticipation of he knew not what.
“Yes those are they.” Wetpatch didn’t mind being interrupted. He knew what he had to say, and was confident that he wouldn’t forget it in the following few seconds.
Desmond clearly needed clarification because he added, “The original, or the graphic version in which Horatio did all the drawings himself, and Joan Bugler helped do some colouring-in – in payment for the lone of his race-prepped motocross foldaway scooter?”
Wetpatch couldn’t recall any pictures in the copy that he’d borrowed from Algy Piecrust, but he couldn’t be certain. He decided to lie.
“Both. But that’s not important right now. In the chronicles a dreadful situation was often saved by you inventing a time-machine. I was just wondering…”
“By the Great Angler’s Tit!” Desmond could be heard roaring as he whipped up his trousers, and quickly tightened his belt buckle “That’s an idea worthy of Horatio himself. Well done lad. I’ll get straight down to the laboratory quicker than you can play ‘Fanfare for the Common Hamster’ on your ancient tuba. The day can still be saved – simply by going back to yesterday!”
Well if there was one thing at which Desmond excelled – it was in creating time machines out of multifarious bits and pieces that fell readily to paw. He’d done so many times before, and he saw no reason why he couldn’t do it any number of times in the future. It was just the present that concerned him. Nevertheless, within the hour, he presented a strange-looking, hamster-sized box to Sally and the others.
Sally regarded the flashing lights that winked provocatively to her from inside the devise. “It’s a bit…rudimentary, isn’t it.” She said rather rudely. “I mean…where’s the huge spinning wheel? Everyone knows that time machines must have huge spinning wheels. How else are they supposed to work? Honestly – I thought you were some sort of expert!”
Her voice had been becoming shriller and shriller with every word, and it was patently clear to everyone that she feared the devise with a deep-seated passion.
“It’s okay, Sally.” Ho tried to pat her arm consolingly, but only managed to catch a reflex nerve in her elbow that made her squeal loudly, “You miss ride in time machine: Ho go instead.”
“No.” Desmond jerked visibly. “It must be Sally who travels back in time. She’s the only one who’s both single and intelligent. This is a dangerous and very important mission. She may not survive it.”
“That hardly seems fair.” Amy complained. “I’m single and intelligent: Why can’t I go?”
Desmond turned his gaze upon Police Constable Chest. Speaking to Amy he said, “No – you’re not single: you have someone who adores you.”
“Sally have someone who adores her!” Ho blurted. “Also dead-beat husband who nobody knows, and cares even less about.”
Naturally everyone immediately set about the task of conjecturing about the identity of the mysterious admirer – and (to a lesser extent) her mysteriously unknown husband.
“Doctor Growbag likes a bit of skirt now and then.” Wetpatch offered rather rudely.
“And the Reverend Lewd’s not above hanky-panky in the cloisters.” Roman offered.
“And there’s any number of enthusiastic lesbians in town.” Amy recalled.
“It me – you bunch’a no-brain dim-shits.” Ho bellowed as best a small Chinese hamster can. “Ho love Sally. Sally’s not going in stupid machine. End of story. Okay?”
It was one of those emotional outbursts that make witnesses feel awkward – like they wished that they could be somewhere else entirely. Of course no one could have predicted it, but now that it had happened, it made a strange sort of sense. So whilst everyone else began examining previously unnoticed things – like mould spores in the corner, or a rolled-up emergency raffia mat beside the fire hose, and a passing dormouse with a pronounced limp, Sally stepped back in amazement.
“Ho, I had no idea.” She said. “But don’t you think you’re being a little unwise? Look at the disparity in size: You’re a diminutive midget-male; and I’m a fulsome monster of a female. Why, I could suffocate you to death with my breasts just by leaning against you. And If I turn too quickly I could take your head off. And as regards to other, more personal things…”
What happens next can only be learned by purchasing this wondrous tome. How mean of me.
© Paul Trevor Nolan
This book is available at Lulu.com, and just about every major e-book retailer, and quite a few minor ones too!.