After several, across the burning, throats parched, they came to the seaside without chips. There, looking out, they could see a great armadillo of shipping of all kinds, from freighters to tankers and back to freighters again, all at anchor, or chugging to and fro. The polyglot sailors playing cards, losing all their money and getting angry when the air conditioning failed.
The Blue Knight, holding the Thread in on hand enquired,
Shall we? Are you? Why is it? What has happened? Did it go wrong? Who is to blame?
The Thread lay direct, out across the water and invisible by the distance who knows.
The water, the colour of green glass, lay mysterious, flowing out, in consideration of the moon.
The world supply of Chartreuse, gathered from the Chartreuse wells of the gulf coast, lay fermenting in the belly of the tankers.
The trade of greenish yellow liquid, rarer than some other things, has been interrupted, they said, revving the great engines of the tankers, And we cannot proceed.
Tell us, said Sheba.
Some deranged Despot started a directionless war, for which he had no end, nor end goal, said the sailors, People dying left and right for no reason at all. Unfortunately, the Despot was not capable of seeing the consequences of his aggression, as he was not big on thinking. Also, he cannot be brought into justice because he holded the biggest stick.
Now, all the Chartreuse is stuck here, in the aptly named Strait of Chartreuse and we cannot get out. The drums, the drums, they are coming, we cannot get out. You shall not pass, said the people, and the Despot became most upset, as the price of Chartreuse was, in his fevered, the measure of his worth. That and the stick market.
The Despot pretended that he did not need the Chartreuse trapped in the Strait, as he already had a bottle hid in his cupboard. But secretly he was green with envy of the people who could actually do useful things, like research a subject, take time to understand a situation, talk to the experts and act with respect and consideration.
Help us, Oh Blue Knight and Companion, to reopen the straight and narrow, that we may deliver our cargoes, called the sailors, hanging over the railings to barter.
On the Water, the Thread was in danger of tangling with the thrashing propellers of the great ships and so the Blue Knight shouted Stop! and everyone calmed down.
Luckily the despot had become bored and wandered away to make people miserable in Sugar Cube, a country which he had always hated. He hated things that wouldn’t do what he wanted, or that he could not understand.
The Blue Knight took off his armour and donned his bathing trunks. Slipping into the green waters, he swam out to follow the thread.
A slap in the face, a wave in the hand, two turtles and a life vest. The raft of the medusa and a raft of policies. He can’t do this, we must band together and put up a front.
In the centre of the Strait lay Argh Island, and the Blue Knight, still dripping, convened a Conference of the Sensible, who arrived by dirigible.
Incidentally, Argh Island is where all the old pirates retire to, the ones that survive anyway.
This incidence of aggression and stupidity by the Despot, said the BK, addressing the leaders of the Sensible, Is merely an expression of a greater malaise being wielded by the big stick owner. How shall we then take hold of the stick and contain its flailing about. Put it in a cage and wait until it dies down.
One captain said, We should take this Thread and whip it about the ankles of the despot, to curtail his movement such that he becomes less able. We might then wave something shiny in his face to distract, and then repeat, You are feeling sleepy, until he drops off his perch.
Good plan, said Sheba, who will do this whipping?
It must be collective, said the Conference, Let us invite him to a ‘Coronation of the King of the World Ceremony’ which he will not be able to resist, and then, crawling under the great banqueting, we might tie his shoelaces together with glue and bind it all with the Thread. Collective action is the only way. He may be the biggest dig but, together, our pack is the mightier and we may eject him.
How shall we then contain his crazy?
We shall build a palace of patterned walls that he cannot decipher? He is stupid, it should not be difficult. If the wallpaper is of a sufficient complexity, he will not be able to find the door and will wander in circles for an eternity.
Then and only then can we agree amongst ourselves the new rules and compromises that will bring the opening of the Strait of Chartreuse.
They Built a palace there and then, then, with crenelations and halls of residence. The greater part lay in a grand hall, the wallpaper of grand designs and pattern encrusted, a sign on the door proclaiming that the King of the World should enter here.
Outside, warning signs were placed to protect the unwary.
Beware, complex patterns within, it said.
They invited the wonderful artists of the middle east to work their magic, creating mind boggling geometric patterns that started enormous and diminished to fractile tendrils in a beauty unmatched, then it was done.
How will he know? asked the Sensible
Post it on the Y channel with a picture of a fluffy bear and the promise of some free fast food, that should do it.
The Guardians of the Cave 