The wench started to elbow her way through the merry makers. Everyone had come this day- knights and maidens, knaves and noblenuts, lustlords, apes and ninnies, as well as Moe, Curly and Larry and the crew from Star Trek the Next Generation, who were there having an all too civilized argument with the Pope.

"Better hurry before the great and powerful Elizabeth arrives, God shave her hymous!" cried Morgan, setting off another instinctual round of 'God save (stave, spay, laid, etc.) the Queen' throughout the colorful crowd.

"Wait!" Morgan had a second thought. "I need to take a walk. I'll go with you ... make sure you get there OK." Rushing forward, the small sot stepped upon her sagging underskirt, plunging, hands and knees, to the cobbled path beneath her. No one noticed, except Nancy who waited for her at the gate.

Up the road, the nefarious twosome scuffed along, sifting plumes of dust with the hems of their long, rippling skirts. Chains of babbling bells, hanging over their behinds, announced their forthcoming. There were a lot of folk about the shire and so the wenches made for the End of the World, where the Public Privies might yet be unravaged by the coming hordes.