Large PrintHandheldAudioRating
using
 paypal
Twisting The Hellmouth Crossing Over Awards - Results
Is your email address still valid?

Buffy Three Meet Blackadder II

StoryReviewsStatisticsRelated StoriesTracking
Story

Summary: Two imaginary episodes of Blackadder II, set just after the events of ‘Money’, in which

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Television > BlackadderKeswindhoverFR13211,269131,81116 Feb 0316 Feb 03No

Buffy Three Meet Blackadder II

Buffy Three Meet Blackadder II


Episode One: Rent


PAIRING:
None


RATING: PG


FEEDBACK: Very welcome, to keswindhover@yahoo.co.uk


BETA: Astraea - many thanks!


 


SETTING: This is the first of two imaginary episodes of Blackadder II, set just after the events of ‘Money’, in which Buffy, Giles and Spike, in the time between Season 4 and Season 5 of Buffy, are transported through time and space to land in Elizabethan England. (What? Hey! It could happen.)


 


DISCLAIMER: None of these characters belong to me, but I’m only borrowing, and I promise to put them all back in good condition, and only slightly used.


 


Scene 1: The kitchen of Lord Edmund Blackadder’s house, in Billingsgate, London. Giles and Spike appear in a flash of light, and collapse in a pile. Baldrick, Lord Blackadder’s servant, is about to throw a piece of paper into the fire. He witnesses their arrival, and ambles over, the paper in his hand.


 


Baldrick: (chewing on some mysterious object) Hello.


Giles and Spike dazedly untangle themselves.


Spike: What happened? Where are we then? (draws a deep breath) Hey, I smell old Europe - filth, fog, and rotting corpses. And something very gamey closer at hand (looks at Baldrick).


Baldrick: That’s probably me - or it could be the stew.


Giles and Spike gaze at Baldrick, fascinated by his repulsiveness. He takes his hand away from his mouth, revealing a rat’s tail dangling from his mouth.


Giles: Is that a rat?


Baldrick: Oh, sorry - did you want some? (He pulls on the tail, and produces a half chewed corpse) It’s just a bit spitty.


Giles: That’s very kind of you, er...


Baldrick: Baldrick’s the name. Pleased to meet you. (he puts out a filthy hand, still holding the piece of paper. Giles shakes it very gingerly, then takes his hand back with the paper stuck to it by some unspeakable substance.)


Giles: (surreptitiously peeling the paper from his hand) Ah, Mr Baldrick - pleased to meet you too. I wonder if perhaps you can tell us where we are?


Baldrick: You’re in the kitchen.


Giles: And where is the kitchen?


Baldrick: Here.


Giles: Ye-es. So it is. (Baldrick smiles proudly) But where is here?


Baldrick: In the kit... (He is interrupted by a shout off-stage)


Blackadder: Baldrick! Where are you, you ugly misbegotten offspring of a donkey’s testicles?


Baldrick: My Lord is calling. Sorry - I’ve got to go.


(Baldrick leaves)


Spike: Smelly little bugger. (starts to prowl about the kitchen)


Giles: Nice manners, though. (He reads the piece of paper in his hand, and gasps)


Spike: (looks around) What’s that then?


Giles: It’s a third reminder for payment of twenty six shillings and eight pence, for stuffed peacocks, a marzipan pig’s head, and six gallons of sherry - six gallons? Good Lord.


Spike: (sarcastic) Shocking.


Giles: That is not why I gasped, Spike. (taps the paper) Look at the address, and the date. London! We’re in London. In the Elizabethan period! This is tremendously exciting.


Spike: Yeah - exciting. (rolls eyes) So, how are we getting back, then? I want my breakfast.


Giles: Spike - just please, for once, try and use a little imagination. This is history, and we are living in it! (begins touching every object in sight reverently) Anyway, since I have no idea how we got here, clearly I have no notion of how to get back.


Spike: (sulking) Thought you were meant to be the brainy one. Huh. And I’ve already done two hundred years of history, thanks very much - believe you me, most of it stinks.


(Baldrick reappears at the top of the stairs, with Lord Edmund Blackadder)


Blackadder: You seem happy Baldrick - almost as happy as the time you found the turnip that looked like Mrs Miggins, and made it that little calico dress, and carried it about in your breeches for three months.


Baldrick: Good times.... and yes, I am happy my Lord. (dreamily) I’ve spoken to an angel. (he points) There they are my Lord - angels! They appeared in a flash of light. (they listen for a moment as Spike and Giles continue to bicker) Um, do you have any idea what they’re saying, my Lord?


Blackadder: I’ve no idea, Baldrick - their accents are as ugly and outlandish as their costumes.


Baldrick: Perhaps they’re talking in Angel, my Lord.


Blackadder: Ha! If they are angels, then I am Queen of the May!


Baldrick: I didn’t know that, my Lord.


Blackadder: I know I’m going to regret this - but what didn’t you know, Baldrick?


Baldrick: That you were Queen of the May, my Lord. I thought that was some fairy.


Blackadder: (hits Baldrick round the head) You are a pestilence wracked bonehead, Baldrick.


Baldrick: Thank you, my Lord.


Blackadder: (wipes his hand on his doublet) A greasy headed, pestilence wracked bonehead. I can only pray you haven’t given me nits. Remind me to wear gloves the next time I strike you, Baldrick.


Baldrick: Yes, my Lord.


Blackadder: (looks at Giles and Spike, revolted) Appeared in a flash of light indeed! Were there pixies and elves as well, garlanding them with flowers and singing hey nonny, nonny?


Baldrick: No my Lord, (wistfully) but I wish there had been.


(There is a flash of light and Buffy tumbles to the ground near Giles and Spike)


Buffy: Giles! (embraces him) And Spike. (Spike holds out his arms for a hug, which he doesn’t get) Eeew! What’s that smell?


Blackadder: By God, Baldrick was right! I must make a note. (pulls notebook from his pocket, and writes) June 28th, Baldrick was right. (stares at notebook for a moment) No, clearly that's ridiculous. (scribbles out the note) Hmm, I think I need reinforcements. Come along Baldrick!


(Blackadder and Baldrick slip through the door and lock it)


Giles: (holding Buffy by the shoulder) Buffy! You too? Prepare yourself for a shock - we appear to be in Eliz...


Buffy: Elizabethan London, I know. Skanky, isn't it? (looks around her, and grimaces) Well, I guess they didn't invent Flash yet. It was Ethan - he's a chaos worshipping fool, that guy. This time he set a spell on your Scotch. Anyone who drinks it gets catapulted through time and space to here.


Giles: (outraged, to Spike) That means you’ve been stealing my Glenmorangie!


Spike: What do you bloody expect? I’m a demon! I’m bad! How do I get that information through your thick skull? (wanders about moodily, lifts the lid on the stew, and winces)


Buffy: Oooh! It’s the Big Bad Scotch Stealing Demon. I’m all scared!


Spike: (turns, and gestures with the stew pot lid still in hand) One of these days, Slayer, this chip will be out, and then...


Buffy: And then, I’ll kill you, Spike.


Giles: (still fixated on thoughts of his whiskey) And you drank it too, Buffy? Frankly, I expected better of you.


Buffy: (exasperated) I drank it so I could come here, and rescue you! And it’s vile, by the way. Eeew!


Giles: (takes his hand from Buffy's shoulder, offended) That is a fine single malt.


Spike: Yeah. It’s a very nice drop. You’ve got no taste, Slayer.


Buffy: Will you two guys focus here! I just travelled through time and space TO RESCUE YOU. (pulls herself up on to the table, then jumps off again, and looks at the seat of her jeans, and starts brushing furiously) Willow and Tara put a trace spell on me, and they’re gonna bounce us back, just as soon as all the factors align.


Spike: What factors?


Buffy: (defensively) The relevant factors.


Giles: Could you be a bit more specific, Buffy?


Buffy: The factors that need to be aligned, and stuff. And something about fabric, and ripping it, I think.


Spike: You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?


Buffy: Have so!


Spike: Have not.


Giles: Children, please. I am sure that Willow, or at least Tara, know what they are talking about. Buffy, tell me they know what they’re talking about, please?


Buffy: Sure they do. And they have Ethan tied to a pillar, with a truth spell cast on him, in case anything goes wrong.


Giles: (dryly) Very reassuring.


Buffy: Plus, they wrote down what we have to do. (Pulls a crumpled bit of paper out of her back pocket and hands it to Giles)


Giles: (reads it) My God! Ethan has really done it this time! Our presence here is creating a rip in the fabric of space and time.


Buffy: I knew it was something to do with fabric.


Giles: (waves the paper agitatedly) We need to return to the present immediately, before irreparable harm is done.


Spike: Good - I want my breakfast, as I’ve already said. And when we get back I can watch while Cemetery gal here kicks the stuffing out of Ethan the bloody giggle merchant.


Buffy: Giles, can’t we just Slay Spike here - that’s got to reduce the ripped fabric thingie by a third, hasn’t it?


Giles: Sadly not. We need to take him back.


Buffy: Aww.


Giles: We can leave nothing behind, and change nothing while we’re here. Having that simple minded kitchen hand see us was bad enough. Both of you, please listen carefully, this is very important. (Buffy and Spike both look bored) We must maintain the lowest of low profiles. If we do see anyone, act normally, keep quiet, and do not whatever you do, say or do anything to make them suspect we are anything other than ordinary Elizabethan citizens. (waves the piece of paper) Now, all we need to do is to make sure that we are all in one place, with no contemporary people within 10 yards of us, and Willow and Tara can bring us back.


Spike: So why haven’t they done it then?


Giles: What?


Spike: Brought us back. Here we are, all in one place. All alone. What’s the delay?


Giles: (looks around him) Good point.


(Blackadder and Baldrick appear at the top of the stairs, backed up by several men wielding guns)


Blackadder: Greetings, strangers - welcome to my humble mansion! (strikes a pose at the top of the stairs , and then descends, stopping a safe distance away) Now, would you like to explain just exactly who - or what - you are, and what you are doing in my house?


Giles: Ah! Um, we are humble mummers, travelling from door to door...


Blackadder: Well, you’re certainly dressed for the part. What is that thing you’re wearing - a coal sack?


Giles: (stiffens) This is tweed!


Blackadder: (to Spike) And your coat - that’s just a dead cow painted black, isn’t it?


Spike: Pretty much, yeah - and look who’s talking - Mr ‘Girly’ Pantyhose.


Blackadder: (to Baldrick) They’re still talking gibberish I see.


Baldrick: That’s because they’re angels, my Lord!


Blackadder: Remind me to smack you around the head with an heavy implement the next time I pass, Baldrick.


Baldrick: Yes, my Lord.


Blackadder: (slowly and loudly) Who Are You?


Spike: (points at Giles) He’s a glorified librarian. (points at Buffy) She’s the Slayer, which is a kind of demon, only they don’t like you to say so.


Giles: Spike! That’s enough.


Blackadder: A demon? How very interesting.


Buffy: I am not a demon - no way, no how! (she punches Spike, who flies violently backwards into the kitchen table and breaks it into splinters)


Giles: Ah, but she is a great believer in physical culture.


Blackadder: (suspiciously) You do seem very strong, particularly for a person of the female persuasion.


Buffy: I eat a lot of spinach.Blackadder: More gibberish! And I expect full recompense for the table - it was a precious antique. Belonged to my dear old, sadly lamented grandmama. Worth every penny of twenty pounds, that table.


Baldrick: Actually, my Lord, we got it from that tip in Spitalfields - don’t you remember? You beat off that old leper, and I carried it home on my head.


Blackadder: Shut up, Baldrick.


Baldrick: Luckily it wasn’t that heavy, because of all the woodworm.


Spike: (gets up, and snaps a table leg easily over his knee) You can shove your twenty pounds up your arse, chum.


Blackadder: (strikes Baldrick round the head, curses, and wipes his hand on his doublet again) I sometimes ask myself what I did in a past life to deserve all this. I must have been a snivelling, puling, murderous and treacherous little cretin mustn’t I? (turns to Buffy) Well, all demons will of course be burnt at the stake - along with any handy witches (to Spike) Are you a witch by any chance?


Giles: My companions were just being whimsical, Sir. There are no demons among us - ha, ha! The very notion.


Buffy: Just our little joke.


(Spike rolls his eyes, then slouches to a chair and sits down. It breaks and he tumbles to the floor)


Spike: I’m guessing this came as part of the set with the kitchen table. (he gets up again) Actually, we’re time travellers. (folds his arms, bored)


Giles: Spike!


Blackadder: (folds his arms, equally bored) Time travellers, eh? From the future, presumably. I can’t imagine even the Plantagenets wore anything quite as ugly as you and your companions.


Buffy: Hey - this is Agnes B!


Blackadder: Seriously, now, let’s have a little plain talking.


Spike: Black doesn’t suit your complexion, mate - makes you look pasty. That plain enough for you? And we just appeared in a flash of light, didn’t we? Like you said. We’re time travellers, you plonker. (quietly to Blackadder) And hook up with me, and I can show you the way to riches beyond the dreams of avarice.


Blackadder: (quietly back) I seriously doubt there are riches beyond my dreams of avarice. However, you will forgive me if I find it hard to credit the words of a man who appears to have dipped his head in a vat of urine.


Giles: Quite right - he is a big fat liar. We are just harmless, penniless, travelling players.


Blackadder: Actually, you both have a lying-through-your-teeth look about you. It’s a look I know well.


(Spike picks up the poker from beside the fire. The arms men immediately point their guns at him, and he waves at them, then ties the poker into a knot)


Spike: Who’d you rather believe? Him or me?


Buffy: (quietly to Giles) Can I at least smack Spike about a bit?


Giles: (quietly back) Probably not without getting someone’s head blown off, no. Only as a last resort, Buffy. Although Spike is making things worse by the minute, so that may be soon.


Spike: If you don’t listen to me you’ll be losing a golden opportunity.... (Blackadder looks tempted) ... you daft bugger.


Blackadder: I do not need to bargain with you, Sir. I hold all the aces, for once! (Spike raises his eyes to the ceiling) My God! (paces about) What to do? What to do? (he looks up) I know! I’ll chain you all up in extra strong chain, and put you in extra strong cages, and transport you about the country for yokels to gawp at - and I’ll charge extra if they want to throw rotten vegetables - yes, it’s perfect!


Giles: That is an appalling suggestion.


Blackadder: (not listening) No - I have an even better plan. I will present you to the Queen, for her menagerie. I can be the man who captured the exotic time travelling troupe of mummers and changed history. (Giles winces) I should be set up for life.


(Blackadder goes to order a carriage, leaving Giles, Spike and Buffy guarded by the armsmen. Baldrick continues to hang around gazing worshipfully at Buffy)


Spike: (grins at Giles and Buffy) The Queen of England, eh? We’re doing well on that whole ‘keep a low profile’ thing, aren’t we?


Giles: (puts his head in his hands) Oh God, can things get any worse?


Spike: Well sure they can. There are plenty of hours left in the day. (grins again) And I’ll enjoy meeting a Queen - saw old Vicky once, but we weren’t exactly on speaking terms.


Buffy: (grabs Spike by the throat) Spike, if you do anything more to make things any worse I am going to stake you, then sweep up all the dust very, very carefully, and carry it home in a little bag with me, and put it on my mantelpiece. And I am so not joking.


Giles: I am coming to think that might be the best plan, Buffy, for the sake of the space/time fabric...


Spike: All right, all right! I’ll be a good boy. (quietly) While you’re listening, anyway.


(Scene 2: In a carriage, on the way to the Royal Palace)


Baldrick (gives Buffy a rat) This is for you, because you’re so lovely.


Spike: Looks like you have a new admirer, love.


Buffy: Is there a famine going down? I read about famines, somewhere. (panicked) Do we have to eat rats? (draws herself up) I am not eating rats. There will be no rat eating. Eating of rats will not feature in this Buffy adventure.


Baldrick: Well, I do have a lovely turnip (reaches into his pocket and shows them a wrinkled turnip) I’m very fond of it. (to Buffy) But I’d give it to you (inches closer).


Buffy: Back off, buddy. Before I smack you into the middle of next week.


Baldrick: (blissfully) It spoke to me, by name!


Blackadder: Your name is Baldrick, Baldrick. Not Buddy.


Baldrick: Ah, well that’s where you’re wrong my Lord. Buggy is my nickname. All the other children in the orphanage called me Buggy, because I had bugs.


Blackadder: She said Buddy, Baldrick, you sad besotted simpleton - not Buggy.


Baldrick: Perhaps she has a cold.


Buffy: (holding her nose) Oof! If only.


Spike: Hey - Buggy and Buffy! You two are fated to be together.


Buffy: Shut up, Spike.


Giles: (peering out of the window) We are in London - Elizabethan London! Isn’t it splendid?


Spike: Well, let’s see - wars, famine, disease, burnings at the stake and regular beheadings. Yeah, splendid.


Giles: (dreamily) Shakespeare, Jonson, Marlowe, Bacon, Sydney - such poets!


Spike: Bunch of ponces, if you ask me.


Blackadder: Ah, how right you are! All poets are ponces in my opinion. Poncing about, writing trivial poncey little verses, and getting paid good money for them by fools without the taste or wit to know better.


Spike: Had some trouble selling your poems, have you, mate?


Blackadder: Two hundred and sixty three brilliant sonnets - all unpublished.


Giles: Tell me, Spike, how many poems did you sell, or indeed give away, during your rather brief literary career?


Spike: (growls).


Blackadder: Ah - here we are, Richmond.


Giles: Wonderful!


(leaps from the carriage, and slips in the dung smearing the cobbles. Falls to his hands and knees)


Spike: Now that’s some authentic Elizabethan horse shit you have in your hands, Watcher - splendid, ain’t it?


Buffy: Giles! Are you all right?


Giles: Yes, yes, not a problem. Reality does tend to be a bit messier than one imagines it.


Blackadder: Wipe your hands on Baldrick, it won’t make him any dirtier. Now, come along - and meet the Queen of England. I warn you now, she’s as thick as pigshit - speak slowly, and don’t use any big words.


(Scene 3: A corridor in the Royal Palace: Blackadder, Giles, Buffy, and Spike are standing in a little group, still guarded by the two armsmen. Blackadder approaches down the corridor, accompanied by Baldrick.)


Giles: Do you usually have to wait six hours to see Her Majesty, Sir Edmund? I understood you to say that you were one of her favourites?


Blackadder: These little delays are quite normal, and I have just spoken to the Usher, again. The Queen is simply busy - sorting her button collection according to size. She has a great many buttons, so no doubt it is taking her some time.


Spike: (turns to Giles and kicks moodily at the carpet) This has got to be the most boring bloody ‘adventure’ you lot have ever dragged me into. It’s teatime now - and I still haven’t had any breakfast.


Buffy: Will you stop whining about your stomach, Spike? Vampires can go for months without feeding; it says so in the Watcher’s Handbook. Says starving them to death is downright time consuming and tedious.


Giles: I am glad to hear that you have been studying, Buffy.


Buffy: Oh, I’m book girl, these days. ‘Staking, or Decapitation? You Decide’, ‘Pyres and Their Many Uses’, ‘A Dyscourse upon Ye Uses of Nitrous Silver, and Other Slaying Methods’ - that’s a good one. Very descriptive.


Spike: Oh, har de har, Slayer. I’m trembling in fear, over here.


Blackadder: That all sounds splendidly entertaining, madam, but I’ve never been much of a one for religious literature. I prefer to beguile my time with wine, women and more wine, and more women. When I can afford them, that is.


Baldrick: (stares soulfully at Buffy) We had four thousand pounds a week ago, Your Divineness. Then my Lord had a cunning plan.


Blackadder: (reaches out to hit Baldrick, then remembers he isn’t wearing his gloves) No need to bore our lady guest with these little domestic details, Baldrick.


Baldrick: He decided to double it, by betting that the Bishop of Bath and Wells could eat forty two of Mrs Miggins’ meat pies in less than three minutes.


Blackadder: (sounding strained) As I said, no need to bore the lady.


Buffy: Oh, I’m not bored - it sounds real interesting.


Baldrick: And then, Lord Percy told the Bishop that Lord Edmund had backed him.


Blackadder: You may notice that Lord Percy is not present...


Baldrick: And he ate forty one meat pies in one minute and twenty three seconds..


Blackadder: ...That is because Lord Percy is now dead.


Baldrick: Then he nibbled a bit of the crust on the forty second meat pie.


Blackadder: (now caught up in the memory despite himself) One minute and fifty two seconds gone.


Baldrick: Then he made a hole in it and sucked all the gravy out


Blackadder: (clenches his fists) Two minutes and thirteen seconds gone.


Baldrick: Then he pulled all the little bobbles of suet pastry off the top and ate those.


Blackadder: (grinds his teeth) Two minutes and twenty nine seconds gone.


Baldrick: Then he pulled the pie in two and ate all the gristly bits.


Blackadder: (begins to pace) Two minutes and forty three seconds gone.


Baldrick: Which just left a bit of soggy pastry and the one bit of actual meat that was in the pie.


Blackadder: (stares hollowly into space) Seventeen seconds to go - he could have eaten two babies in that time.


Baldrick: Then he ate the pastry....


Blackadder: (contemplates a hanging on the wall) Two minutes and fifty seven seconds gone.


Baldrick: Then he picked up the meat..... and he said he felt too full and he put it down again.


Blackadder: Three minutes gone. Ruined, ruined! (he bangs his head on the wall, repeatedly)


Spike: He sounds like a bloke with real talent. I wonder if I could do something like that? Hmm...


Giles: From what I remember of the Bishop and his order, you’d fit right in there, Spike.


Baldrick: ....So now we’re poor again. Although, I do still have my lovely turnip (reaches into his pocket and shows them the wrinkled turnip again)


Giles: Ah - I’m sure that must be a great consolation to you, Mr Baldrick.


Baldrick: (strokes turnip) It is. I always say, Sir, no matter how bad things may be, you’re never really alone with a turnip.


(Scene 3: The throne room. Lord Blackadder and Baldrick enter, followed by Giles, Spike and Buffy, and the two armsmen. The Queen is seated on her throne, with her Nurse beside her on one side, and her Chancellor Lord Melchett on the other.)


Blackadder: (bows deeply) Greetings, Your Royal Highness. May I just say how absolutely ravishing you are looking today?


Queenie: Shut up Edmund, and show me the funny monkeys you found.


Blackadder: Certainly, Majesty. May I present Lord Giles of Bath, and his company.


Queenie: (waves merrily) Hello there! Edmund tells me you’re time travelling monkeys. How amusing!


Blackadder: Ahem, mummers, Your Majesty, rather than monkeys.


Queenie: Who’s Queen?


Blackadder: Monkeys it is. Sir Giles, may I present you to Her Royal Highness, her Most Gracious Majesty, the Queen of England?


Giles: (approaches the throne, and bows) Your Majesty, I am honoured, deeply honoured to make your acquaintance. Your fame has echoed down the ages, but all reports of your beauty and wit have failed to do you justice.


Queenie: Really? Well that’s not good, is it? I shall have to execute someone. Melchie, who is my Press Officer?


Blackadder: I believe that would be Lord Melchett, your Majesty.


Melchett: (hastily) No, no - it’s the Home Secretary.


Blackadder: Ah - my mistake. (Lord Melchett throws him a dirty look)


Queenie: Get me a death warrant.


Melchett: Conveniently, the Home Secretary is already on the condemned list, Your Majesty.


Queenie: Really? Golly, I am clever, aren’t I?


Melchett: Indeed, madam. (bows deeply) Your genius is legendary.


Blackadder: (to Giles) And this is Lord Melchett. (adds quietly) Champion bottom kisser of all England.


Melchett: (casts a sly glance at the Queen) So, Lord Blackadder, not still feeling sore about that little joke the Bishop of Bath and Wells played upon you, I hope?


Blackadder: Not at all, Lord Melchett - it was a jolly little jape by the Bishop. I myself was tickled nearly as much as a man with a ferret down his breeches. Four thousand pounds was a trifle to pay for such hilarity and larks.


Queenie: (impressed) Oh, you are splendid, Edmund. I would be jolly sick if I lost four thousand pounds, I can tell you. (laughs) And I have hundreds of thousands of pounds, just lying around!


Nursie: Indeed, you have, you naughty little dumpling. I keep telling you to stuff it in your piggy bank like a wise little girl, but no.


Queenie: The piggy won’t keep still, Nursie you know that. So, I just have to wade through it every night on my way to bed. Frightfully boring! (Blackadder and Melchett both laugh sycophantically)


Blackadder: You have all my sympathy madam - money is so tedious. Happily, I will be able to take some of it off your hands, in exchange for these exciting additions to your menagerie.


Queenie: Let me have a look at you all. (Blackadder prods Buffy and Spike forward to join Giles)


Nursie: Gosh, they seem just like real people, don’t they my lambkin? Apart from the smell.


Blackadder: Ah - the smell is actually my servant Baldrick, your Majesty. (indicates Baldrick) He witnessed the arrival of the first two Time Travellers. I myself witnessed the arrival of the third (he indicates Buffy. There is a dangerous silence.)


Queenie: Edmund! Who told you you could bring a girl who might possibly be prettier than me into the room?


Melchett: Oh, madam. Your beauty is legendary. No shiny little drab could possibly exceed your own, royal incandescence.


Queenie: Shut up Melchie.


Melchett: Certainly madam.


Buffy: Who are you calling drab? This is Agnes B, people! Clearly, you guys know noth..(Blackadder clamps a hand over her mouth)


Blackadder: Actually, she - I mean he - is a boy, your Majesty. A very pretty boy!


Queenie: Really?


Nursie: Ooh, I like a pretty boy! I shall sit him on my lap, and snuggle him on my pillowy thighs, and press him against my squishy bosom, and fed him comfits with my plump white fingers...


Buffy: (through Blackadder’s hand) Mmph... Ugh!


Spike: Bob’s more interested in other boys, than the sweet curves of womankind, aren’t you Bob?


Melchett: (brightens) Really? Erm, that is, disgraceful!


Nursie: Liquorice comfits, sugared fennel seeds, candied peel.


Spike: (mildly interested for the first time) Candy? I am a bit hungry...


Buffy: (stamps on Blackadder’s foot and moves away) I am not a boy!


Blackadder: (tries to chuckle despite the pain) Bob here prefers to be called a man, Your Majesty, although he does not yet shave. Boys are so sensitive. (hisses to Buffy) Silence, if you value your life!


Queenie: And who is the yellow headed fellow with such pretty lips?


Giles: (indicates Spike, who has moved to Nursie’s side and is eating liquorice) This is Sir Alexander of Harris, Your most resplendent and superb Majesty.


Spike: (sprays liquorice everywhere) What?! (whispers) You are going to regret that, you bastard. (Giles grins at him)


Queenie: Ooh! You talk very prettily, my Lord Giles. (beckons to Spike) But lovely Lord Alexander has such sculptured cheekbones! He can be my new favourite. Lord Melchett, you’re far too plain! Step down. Come here, pretty Lord Alexander. (Melchett moves reluctantly, and Spike takes his place, smirking)


Nursie: Golly my pet - the bad man isn’t wearing a codpiece! That’s disgusting, you should avert your eyes! (Nursie and the Queenie both peer intently. Spike strikes a pose).


Buffy: (crosses her eyes and makes gagging noises)


Blackadder: Ahem! Perhaps we should return to the matter in hand, which is to say your acquisition of these exotic Time Travelling Mummers, um Monkeys.


Queenie: (peering intently at Spike) Shut up, Edmund.


Blackadder: Certainly, your Majesty.


Queenie: Now, Lord Alexander, if you would tilt your head, just so - ah, that’s pretty - now tell me - what’s it like in the future? Has anyone invented a way to make geese shit gold yet, or pigeons vomit rubies?


Spike: (popping another piece of liquorice in his mouth) No, your Majesty - shit and vomit are still very much the same as they ever were. (looks at Buffy and Giles) Part of the human condition.


Blackadder: (raises an eyebrow) So it’s still the same old same old, basically?


Spike: Pretty much - humans are born, they live, they die. Some earlier than others, of course. (looks hard at Buffy)


Blackadder: Well, gosh that’s interesting isn’t it? Now. Perhaps we can return to the little matter of a purchase price...


Giles: (defensively) Man has walked upon the moon.


Blackadder: Man has walked upon the moon, eh? And that was a highlight? I mean, a man walked on the moon and you’re all thrilled to bits about it?


Giles: It was a very significant achievement.


Melchett: I see - and what did he find there, Sir Giles? I mean, is it covered in precious jewels? Diamonds, rubies?


Queenie: Ooh! That would be super. They’d all be mine of course.


Giles: Ah, no. It’s basically rock, I believe, and dust.


Blackadder: Rock and dust, eh? Fascinating, quite fascinating. You must tell us more about it sometime, perhaps when I’m unconscious.


Giles: (begins to pace) Yes, well, had we but world enough and time, I would love to sit and talk of these and many other fascinating and important developments, your Majesty; but I fear I must tell you that there is a rip in the fabric of time which is growing larger even as we speak. Urgent action is needed...


Queenie: Shut up, Sir Giles, I want to hear more about gold, and diamonds and rubies.


Giles: Pardon me for persisting, Your Majesty, but the matter is most urg...


Queenie: Melchie!


Melchett: At your service, Majesty.


Queenie Write me an order of execution for Sir Giles.


 


Cor! Dramatic cliffhanger, eh? Tune in again to find out if ‘Sir’ Giles is for the chop, if Buffy can resist punching Spike again, if Blackadder can restore his fortune, and if cruel fate will separate Baldrick from his turnip. Oh - and whether our time travelling heroes can get safely home, and repair the rip in the fabric of time and space, of course.

Next Chapter
StoryReviewsStatisticsRelated StoriesTracking