For Want Of

“Help me look for it,” John Fitzsimmons leaned forward on his desk. His rotund form made it challenging to get up, so he remained firmly planted in his chair, feverishly shuffling papers and folders around on his desk.

“Yes, sir,” came the high pitched squeak of his assistant, Janice. A brunette wearing a frumpy brown dress strolled into his office, glasses sitting askew on her crooked nose. “When did you see it last?”

“It was right here!” his meaty fist pounding the desk. “I know the cursed thing didn’t just get up and walk away. The admiralty will carve my ass if we don’t get this done.”

Janice felt that he could afford to lose a little ass, but wisely kept that to herself. Getting down on her hands and knees, she looked under the desk. “Maybe it rolled away, sir. When did you stamp the last requisition?”

“How the hell should I know! You’re the bloody secretary.”

“Well, sir…” pursing her lips as she got off the floor, “it doesn’t seem to be here. I can order another official stamp, but that will take at least a week. Can’t you submit this requisition without it? You’re a certified purser.”

“No,” John glumly replied. “The State Office has a new director, and we may have gotten off to a difficult start. I, uhm, may have mistaken his wife-”

“You didn’t,” Janice accused.

“How was I to know she wasn’t a prostitute. Good heavens, she certainly dressed the part,” John wiped his brow with the handkerchief from his pocket. “Anyways, we’ve got to find that stamp! This requisition needs to be submitted today, or we won’t be able to fulfill the H.M.S. Fontly’s order before they depart. The flotilla is supposed to be deploying within the week and the Fontly has been trying to order these parts for months.”

He wrinkled his nose as tears began to form in his eyes. He whimpered, “Oh lord, the Admiral will have my guts for garters this time! If only the Fontly hadn’t taken so long to get the right fonts and the right documents in, I wouldn’t be in this mess. ”

Maybe if you weren’t such a lazy oaf you wouldn’t be in this mess, Janice harshly considered. Moving to the bookshelves, she dutifully moved the dusty tomes around, confident he never even approached the bookshelf, let alone lost the stamp there. After a few more minutes of searching, she left him blubbering into his handkerchief and went to fill out a new stamp requisition form.

***

The deck of the H.M.S. Fontly was abuzz with activity. Sailors and Dockworkers scrambled over one another to move crates, ropes, sails and any manner of nautical gear off the pier and onto the proper ships. Ensign Geralds stood at the boarding ramp of the Fontly, clipboard in hand as he marked off crates coming onboard.

“Ensign, how goes the loading?” came a gruff voice from behind him. Geralds turned around to see the Captain of the Fontly approaching. Lowering the clipboard, he snapped to attention, giving a sharp salute to his commanding officer.

“Good Morning, Sir!” Ensign Geralds puffed out his chest. “The loading goes, sir.”

“Indeed,” his Captain noted, returning the salute. “Tell me, have you seen the engine parts our Chief Engineer ordered? He has been howling like a banshee ever since the #2 boiler went down.”

Geralds quickly flipped through the checklist, muttering incoherently to himself. “I’m, uh, sorry sir. I haven’t seen anything marked for it and the Harbormaster’s list doesn’t have it noted anywhere either.” The Captain grimaced, his graying beard smoothly hiding the distress.

“I see,” was all he replied. Extending his arm, he grabbed a passing sailor, “sailor, I need you to take over here. You can read and write, yes?” The sailor nodded quickly, too stunned to speak.

“Good, take over for Ensign Geralds.” Turning to Geralds, the Captain continued, “You need to get to the Harbormaster, find out where our parts are. Be quick about it, we can’t afford to be delayed!” Geralds nodded fervently, thrusting the clipboard and marker into the sailor’s hands as he sped down the ramp.

In his haste he knocked over a pair of dockhands, spilling their armful of crates into the murky seawater. They quickly sank, taking their precious cargo with them to the bottom of the harbor. The sailor simply struck through them on the list and kept counting crates as the Captain turned back towards his cabin.

***

“Curse ‘em!” Chief Engineer Wiggum yelled from his station. The violent rocking of the Fontly knocked over tools and spare parts all across the engineering space. “How can you expect me ta’ keep this rusty, rot-infested, miserable, pile o’ scrap afloat if you won’t give me da’ proper parts!” Wiggum slammed his wrench down on the #2 boiler, causing it to blast out smoke and fiery sparks.

“Chief,” replied one of the junior engineers, “how are we going to keep this boiler stable? If we’re really going to see action at Saskatoon, this boiler will blow the first time we try to get it roaring.”

Chief Engineer Wiggum chucked his wrench at the junior engineer, “quit your cowardly complaining! I’m da’ only one allowed to gripe on this ship.” Walking over to pick up his wrench he gave a threatening backhand to the young man who spoke up. “We’ll keep this burning, bucket of bolts running the same way we keep everything running. Mah’ genius and your hard work!”

Picking up the wrench, he spun around shaking it violently at the remaining engineers. “Now then, you two” he pointed to a pair by the hatch, “go along and check every pipe and duct from here to the main mast. As for the rest of you, you’re going to be cranking wrenches and tightening bolts to make sure that when the Captain orders full power,” Wiggum raised his wrench, “we can give him Full Power!” He struck the #2 boiler again to emphasize his point.

“And if we do meet any of those usurpers in the waters off Saskatoon,” he continued, “we’ll use the full power of this flagship and her hundred guns to crush their rebellion for good.” The #2 boiler sputtered in response and then promptly died.

***

Fiery plumes scorched the horizon above Saskatoon as the black and crimson flags of the usurper’s navy proudly waived in the breeze. They had eliminated the last defense between them and the heart of the kingdom, revenge would finally be theirs. Amidst the chaos of the naval battle, the people of Saskatoon could make out the Admiralty’s flagship, Fontly, burning amongst the wreckage of the flotilla.

“Chief Wiggum, I want some good news,” the Captain of the Fontly bellowed from the bridge of the ship. Jet black smoke billowed from below decks and the Captain could make out red sparks rising into the air… an ominous sign.

“Captain,” Chief Engineer Wiggum yelled from below, “the boilers have ruptured! We’re dead in da’ water and the pumps are done. Fires taking over the-” a burst of flame roared from the hatch next to him, sending the Chief Engineer crawling for cover. A thousand yards ahead the Captain could see his flotilla ablaze, burning hulks and sinking wrecks everywhere he looked.

The Captain was furious, defeated by the usurper’s forces all because of a lousy boiler. The cursed thing had been unreliable on the best of days, and in the heat of battle it had deserted them completely. Without the power from the boiler, Fontly couldn’t bring it’s guns to bear on the enemy, and they made quick work of the Admiralty’s flotilla before turning their weapons on him.

Swearing under his breath, the Captain made for the rear of the bridge. How embarrassing to have to surrender to these ragtag rebels. Grabbing the bridge’s communicator he collapsed to his knees as the decks below him buckled from the heat. He didn’t have a chance to give the order to abandon ship before the Fontly’s magazines detonated, taking him and a thousand crewmen in a massive fireball.

***

The king mopped his brow with the hem of his cape. His crown cocked at an angle as he tapped his foot nervously against the table leg. How had it come to this, he wondered. He’d always tried to be a good king, taxing only what he needed. High society parties were expensive, it wasn’t his fault the people couldn’t pay.

He rubbed his wrists, the handcuffs chafed terribly against his soft skin. The black clad jailers on his left and right fingered their blades, paying him little attention. The king shuffled his feet, keeping his gaze pointed down. Best not to draw attention he figured.

The door to his room opened quietly, a young man garbed in black silks and finery strolled in. “Sorry to keep you waiting, your Majesty” the man paused. “I guess, I just call you Tom now. Well, sorry to keep you waiting either way. Running a kingdom is busy work as you well know.”

He motioned to the two guards, who approached the king and hoisted him from his chair onto his toes. The young man plucked the crown from the king’s head and placed it on himself. The crown sunk to the man’s eyebrows and after fidgeting with it for a few moments he set it on the table.

“I’ll have to get it resized, but no bother.” He snapped his fingers and gestured to the table. The jailers forced the king’s head onto the table, keeping his arms pinned behind him. The king struggled fruitlessly against them.

“I’ll do my best to make this quick, Tom. No sense dragging things out.” The young man grabbed an ornate looking axe from the wall and hefted it above the king’s neck. “Give my regards to your Admiralty,” and he swung the axe down.

***

Janice, her frumpy brown dress replaced with an elegant black and crimson gown, sauntered down the carpet towards the throne, head and shoulders held high. The lords and ladies staged on either side of the aisle bowed and curtsied as she passed them. The new king stopped fidgeting with the ill-fitting crown upon his head and rose from his chair as she approached.

“I’m told by my ministers that I have you to thank for the fortuitous events of the Battle of Saskatoon.” Bowing, he continued, “They hadn’t been defeated at sea in over a century! An impressive accomplishment.”

Janice returned the bow with a deep curtsy, “your Majesty is far too gracious in his praise. I played but a small part, the greatest share of the glory goes to your sailors who handily defeated the Admiralty’s flotilla.”

“I’ve been told they could not have succeeded if not for your efforts. My Lady,” the king pleaded, “you must tell us how so refined and sophisticated a lady, such as yourself, managed to help us defeat the most powerful navy in the world?”

Smiling, Janice reached into the folds of her dress and produced a small, ornate, wooden stamp. “Your Majesty, can you keep a secret?”